


Enemy of My Enemy

by Deslock



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Addiction, Forced Teamwork, Frenemies, Mentions of past abuse, Mentions of physical/Mental torture, Mind fuckery, Psychological Torture, depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deslock/pseuds/Deslock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gray Mann has murdered his brothers and plans to annihilate Mann Co. facilities worldwide, but knows that mercenaries will be hired to defend them. So, in one bloody night, he orders the massacre of both RED and BLU. </p><p>The RED Sniper's hunt for those responsible for the death of his team mates forces him into an undesired but necessary partnership with the last man he would ever trust – the BLU Spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sniper sat behind the wheel of his van, glowering at Gravel Pit in the distance.

Almost a week had passed since the massacre back at Dustbowl. He lit a cigarette, leaned back into his seat, and exhaled loudly. The only reason he survived the attack was due to his penchant for being reclusive; he'd been sleeping off base in his van. It wasn't until sunrise when Sniper sauntered up the dusty road, kicking sand and craving his morning coffee, when he came upon the carnage. Of the eight who'd been on base that awful night, only six bodies were found. Sniper wanted to bury them, it just seemed more respectful that way, but in the end he'd settled for covering them with tarp from Engineers workshop and promising that he'd find those responsible. He swore to make whoever it was suffer.

Medic was one of the missing. His infirmary had been thoroughly devastated, his beloved doves nowhere to be seen. Cracked spectacles were all that was left behind of their master. The other missing body was Spy. The man was a master of camouflage and concealment, but whatever had attacked Dustbowl, Sniper feared, had not been human. The odds of either Medic or Spy still being alive were slim, but they were all Sniper had left.

He pushed his aviators up his nose, the lenses reflecting the road before him like a mirror, and rubbed his exhausted eyes. "Christ." Why was he here, on the enemy's doorstep? Sniper wasn't entirely sure himself. The BLU's had no reason to help him, nor to feel any kind of sympathy for the death of the RED team. If anything it was beneficial to them; with the REDs gone, BLU had officially won their war. But he had nowhere else to go. The only way to contact Miss Pauling was through either a RED or BLU terminal, and the one back at Dustbowl had been destroyed.

He wasn't stupid; Sniper had observed people his entire life. He knew that RED and BLU were connected far deeper than Miss Pauling and the Administrator let on. He'd never saw reason to challenge them on it, as long as he got paid. However, in order to locate who'd assassinated his team, he needed to contact Miss Pauling and if that meant facing the humiliation of grovelling to BLU, then that's what he'd do.

If he survived the encounter then he could avenge his team. He'd promised them he would. A hopeful spark clinging desperately to the back of his mind urged him on; maybe if he found the killers he'd find his Medic and Spy too.

He cracked his neck, tossed the cigarette butt out the window and put the van in gear. Time to pay his old enemies a visit.  _They'll probably shoot me on sight_. Sniper pulled his rifle into his lap, gently thumbing the wooden stock in thought. He'd modified it himself, weighting the barrel at the muzzle to give a more harmonic sense stability and enhance his accuracy. Not that his accuracy needed improvement. He was torn between leaving his rifle as a show that he didn't want trouble, or taking it with him so that - if he was fired on - he could take a few BLU's to hell with him.

Closer to the dilapidating base, it's peeling paint and dust-glazed windows now visible, Sniper turned off the engine. He had an affinity for old, worn buildings. They had character to him, contrasting those modern, bland-as-shit chicken coops that filled most towns. He loaded his rife, slipping extra bullets into the pocket of his jacket and tucking his kukri into his belt. He took a generous gulp from his hip flask, tossing aside the rest of his accoutrements and grabbing his akubra. Stiffly, he stepped out of the van. "Guess this is it." He balanced his foot on the step of his camper, rolled up his pant leg and tucked a small flick knife into his boot. Just a precaution.

The area was still as he ventured up the steeped valley leading to the control point building, no sign of life in sight. Even the wind was blowing too quietly for Sniper's comfort, making the crunch of his boots upon gravel seem treacherously loud. When he reached the entrance to the base unimpeded, he knew something was wrong. Sniper kept the muzzle of his rifle aimed at the ground as he ambled cautiously forward, his head cocked in concentration. The hell was going on? He knew the BLU's had been stationed here last week, and they had no reason to leave for another three days.

The large, crusty gate was ajar and Sniper gently kicked it open, his rifles muzzle being the first thing to enter the base. Suddenly there was noise, a low humming – no, it was buzzing. He took a slow, deep breath and kept his ears sharp. It was flies.

The perfume of putrefaction hit him instantly, almost staggering him. If he'd eaten recently, he'd have brought it up.  _Jesus Christ_. There was blood everywhere – and it wasn't fresh. The light overhead flickered from dull to dark. A heavy cloak of musk clung to the air, heavy and coppery. It hadn't occurred to him until now that whatever had killed his team, may have had the same intent for BLU.

Sniper grimaced at the putrid stench as he skulked further into the room, lowering his rifle again to gape at the scene. "Bloody hell," He gagged as he approached the nearest corpse, but before he could inspect it, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye.

Sniper whipped around, the loud buzzing of flies seeming to deafen him as he searched for movement. He could barely see in the gloomy light, letting his aviators slide down his nose to stare over them. Thin, gloved fingers clamped around his wrist and twisted, sending his rifle clattering to the floor. Sniper saw the gleam of a blade, but there wasn't time to react. By the time he grabbed for his kukri, an arm hooked under his to prevent him from unsheathing it, the cusp of a razor stinging his throat. The presence behind him growled.

He waited for his life to spill out down his shirt, to die here among the fallen enemy, alone save for his killer. He thought of Medic and Spy still being alive, held captive in some terrible place and his heart sank. He'd never save them. Never avenge them.

There was breath at his ear. "Why did you come here?" those five words, pronounced in a French accent, identified the man. Sniper felt both fury and dread dance in his stomach.

"Spy?" It wasn't his RED team mate. It was  _him_. It was the BLU Spy. The pair of them had developed an unfriendly rivalry over the past couple of years, trying to outdo and disgrace each other on the field. The BLU Spy was nefariously callous and, Sniper thought, a misanthropic wanker. If there was one man he did not want to see at this moment, it was the one holding the knife to his throat.

The blade pressed in deeper. "Answer the question."

"M'not entirely sure now," Sniper admitted. "Felt like the only thing to do."

Spy tittered in his ear, but it was dark and pitiless. "As unprofessional as ever. Truly, a man of your vocation ought to learn to separate his thoughts from his feelings."

"I'll separate your head from yer-"

Spy cuffed a hand over Snipers mouth. "Shut up." He leaned back, jaw tense. He'd heard something. Spy craned his head, giving Sniper's throat a little prod when he tried to struggle. Spy's steel-blue eyes hardened. "You did not come here unaccompanied."

Sniper frowned. "Mmph?"

"You brought someone." Spy's knife dug deeper and Sniper knew he was dead. Then, the blade relaxed again. "Non … you were followed." He sucked breath through his teeth. " _Merde_."

Noting Spy's distraction, Sniper brought his elbow forward and rammed it back as hard as he could into Spy's ribs. The BLU was caught off guard and Sniper wasted no time in rounding on him, walloping him across the jaw. Spy hit the floor winded, but managed to compose himself enough to glare up at Sniper, willing him to petrify and shatter into a million pieces.

Sniper had already retrieved his fallen rifle. He aimed it in Spy's face, his throat tingling. "The hell's goin on?" he demanded, finger on the trigger. "These bodies ain't fresh, so why're  _you_  still here?"

Spy didn't respond. That's when an awful idea took form within Sniper's mind. What if Spy had betrayed his team - what if  _he'd_  been in on the whole thing? What if …?

"You bloody wanker," Sniper pressed the muzzle into Spy's forehead. "Did you have anythin to do with this? With what happened to my team!?"

"No," said Spy "I presume you will not believe me, but if you kill me now, you'll never find those responsible."

"Hell does that mean?"

Spy sneered at him. "We do not have  _time_  to stand and lambaste one another– your negligence has led Gray Mann here to finish the job." Sniper kept his rifle trained on Spy as he slowly got to his feet, dusting his suit off. "We need to leave.  _Now_."

"Whose Gray Ma-"

" _Listen_  to me. Those things murdered eight of my colleagues. There are  _two_  of us. If you want to live long enough to avenge your comrades, we need to get  _away_  from here." Spy was already striding away. Sniper began to squeeze his trigger when an explosion shook the building as if to prove Spy's point. He stumbled, lowering his rifle.

"Shit." Sniper caught up to the BLU. "At least tell me what these 'machines' are?"

Spy's voice lowered. "Dangerous."

Sniper remained a little behind, but noticed that Spy's right hand was trembling. His gloved fingers were spasming, and Sniper imagined a spider dying with its legs seizing up. The Frenchman cursed and shoved his hand into his pocket. "I'm not sure where we can go, but it is imperative that we stay ahead." Spy broke into a trot. "If you fall behind, you will be left behind."

Sniper guffawed. "Same to you, mate."

When they rounded the corner, a great frisson shook the buildings foundations. Sniper's senses were overwhelmed by a shrill creaking, not unlike nails on a chalk board, and he clutched his head. The floor vibrated beneath him and he recognised the drumming of three heavy pairs of feet flanking them. He coughed and spluttered dust, scrambling for his knife but instead finding his rifle. In the powdery fog, the silhouette of a man appeared and Sniper pulled the trigger. When the bullet hit, he did not hear a skull explode nor see blood spray. He heard metal being pierced. A cacophony of robotic humming and clicking began to fill the hall. A broken siren. "What the-?"

"We must move." Spy grabbed his collar and hauled him back, never once slowing. The machine at the end of the hall emerged, and it was pointing a rocket launcher at them. Sniper's legs were sprinting before his brain seemed to send the signal, and at the end of the forked hallway he and Spy escaped up different halls to avoid the rocket that came screaming towards them.

Sniper was knocked off balance but managed to catch himself on the wall, the painted surface pulsating beneath his touch. He was given no time to catch his breath, and vaulted up a nearby staircase. The first bullet narrowly missed him, but the second ricocheted off a post and skimmed back, hitting his shoulder. He grabbed his wound with one hand and instinctively padded for his kukri with the other, but he'd lost it in the commotion and his rifle was little help in these tight, in-pursuit situations. At the end of the hall he spotted a window, and from it he could see his van. There was a myriad of machines surrounding his home, pillaging through it. His personal affects scattered around its circumference. He sucked breath through his teeth.

Something hit the floor and rolled toward him. When it came into view, Sniper realised almost too late that it was a grenade. He flung himself into a nearby room but the grenade went off, sending waves of splinters up his right side, one narrowly missing his eye. His eye? He lifted a hand to his face. He hadn't noticed that he'd been bereft of his aviators.

More footsteps rumbled and Sniper ran to the window, his long legs staggering. He found himself staring down a twenty foot drop, maybe less. He hoped it was less. It was enough to give him vertigo. As he contemplated the distance his instincts screamed at him and Sniper ducked, just missing the steel bat swinging at his head. He turned and could barely believe his eyes. The machine before him had a disturbing, uncanny resemblance to Scout. It swung at him. Sniper's adrenaline kept him on edge but the thing was too fast. Backed up against a wall with nowhere to go, he found himself shielding his face from the incoming attack with his arms. The instant the bat made contact with his wrist, he knew it was shattered. He screamed and dived to the side, but the thing seized his ankle mid fall. It lifted him clear off the ground, spun around, and threw him out of the window.

Glass shattered upon impact with Sniper's body and he turned mid-air. He knew to bend his knees before landing and extend them to roll forward once he'd reached the ground, but he still sprawled out gracelessly and bashed the back of his head. He saw stars, but his wrist was still on fire. He could taste blood and realised he'd bit his lip.

He needed a stiff drink. Everything hurt, even through the adrenaline he ached all over. Sniper tried to stumble to his feet but fell with each attempt until cold steel at the back of his head stilled him.  _So this is it_. He waited for his life to flash before his eyes, but even after the bullet shot out, he remained staring at the ground. The Spybot, and the revolver it had been holding, fell beside him, revealing the flesh and blood Spy behind it. He held his own smoking gun up.

They stared at one another, and when Spy didn't lower his gun, his eyes cold, Sniper expected another shot. The grumble of a mini-gun rotating – readying – resounded nearby. Spy grabbed and dragged him to his feet. All Sniper could feel was pain.

Spy was limping, his left pant leg torn and soaked in blood, his face sweating heavily under his balaclava. He was dragging Sniper into a wooded area, the pair leaving only their blood behind as they absconded. "Run, keep moving!"

Spy quickly began to fall behind on his injured leg. He didn't ask for assistance, but Sniper threw his arm under the man's shoulder and began to half-drag, half-carry him away from the rain of bullets that erupted on their tails. "Shit. They're right behind us," Trees seemed to implode above their heads, branches and leaves showering down, landing on them. Nesting birds squawked and flew for cover as their homes were obliterated. That's when Sniper saw the lip of the cliff.

Sniper made to slow down, but Spy had already made the decision for them. He twisted the fabric of Sniper's jacket around his fist, held on tightly, and threw them both over the edge. They hit the surface awkwardly and water rushed up Sniper's nose and down his throat. His throbbing wrist and aching legs did not comply with his minds orders. He found himself simply looking up at the sparkling waters surface, seeing bubbles.  _You need to swim._  His lungs burned, the bubbles stopped.

And Sniper's world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mick_. Someone was calling his name. His real name.  _Mick_. Sniper tried to open his eyes, but they were glued shut.

_Mick_.

He felt a pressure on his shoulder, shaking him. Warm sunlight soaked through his clothes, dissolving into his body and caressing his senses, relaxing him. A fresh breeze glided over his face and softly messed his hair. He felt so comfortable.

'Wake up, silly.' The voice was that of a young boy. Sniper peeled open his eyes and saw a child no older than nine or ten smiling down at him. The boy had a wide, gapped-tooth grin. He was familiar. 'C'mon!'

Sniper tried to blink the blurriness away. 'Ricky?' his voice was hoarse. The boy was on his feet and began to run away, giggling, his scrawny figure moving far faster than it should have. Sniper frowned and looked down at his hands. "The hell?" He was nine years old again, skinny and dirty – but good dirty and healthy skinny, the way all kids were back then. 'Wait!' He clumsily stood to chase Ricky, whose laughter now echoed far in the distance. The sweet smell of early spring acacia filled the air, little cotton-candy balls of pollen dancing all around him.

'Hurry up or you'll be left behind, Mick!' He tried to catch up to his friend but seemed to be running on the spot, his surroundings gradually slowing until Ricky vanished into the sunlight. The beautiful Australian sun burned over head, the heat crashing over the field in waves. And it burned hotter. And hotter. Sniper winced as his skin started to sizzle and bubble.

'MICK – HELP ME!' Ricky was screaming. The pitch made his skin crawl, like how the pigs back home would squeal before dad slaughtered them on the farm. Sniper tried to force his legs to run faster but his skin was melting off the bone, falling away in long, loose strips. He opened his mouth, but his tongue fell to the ground and he accidentally kicked it away. The sun burned so bright that it blinded him. Everything was bright white. 'Mick please,' Ricky seemed so far away. 'He's  _hurting_  me! Help me!"  _I have to help him._  But Sniper's whole body burst into flames, becoming ash in the gentle spring breeze.

..

Consciousness came to Sniper as gently as a ton of bricks and his eyes snapped open. He swallowed large gulps of air, momentarily paralysed. It was dark and chilly, save for a lamely built fire a few feet to his left, and he could feel dirt beneath his fingers. He was shivering and soggy, but whether that was from the sweat soaking through his clothes or his trip down the river, he was unsure. Probably a combination of both.

He sat up quickly and put his head in his hands, taking deep, shaky breathes. He screwed his eyes shut and counted slowly to ten, waiting for his mind to clear. When he looked up, Spy was sitting on a dead tree stump, regarding him.

"Bad dream?"

Sniper remembered where he was and groaned. This asshole was the last person he wanted to see right now. He ignored Spy and stared down at his wrist, which was held between two thick sticks in a makeshift splint. He inspected the red strip of fabric that padded his wrist and forearm, and was also coiled tightly around the sticks to secure them in place. A quick glance down at himself confirmed that his sleeves had provided the dressing.

Sniper stumbled to the fire. He was chilled to the bone and needed some heat to quicken his blood circulation, though his numbness was blissfully acting as a painkiller for his injuries. He flicked his tongue over his lips. "You did this?" he indicated the splint.

"An accomplished swimmer  _and_  a master of deduction," Spy spoke in monotone. "Colour me impressed."

Snipers glare hovered on the other man before dropping to the fire. He observed it studiously, then glanced up again. "Can't build a decent fire worth a piss, can ya?" They scowled at one another for a long time.

The conversation died on its ass, so Sniper tried to find his bearings. The BLU base, the Machines, Spy … and where the hell were they now? Sniper needed a stiff drink, his fingers itching for his hipflask. He scanned the area, quickly regretting combating his numbness as feeling returned to his body and everything began to ache.  _Still in the woodland anyway_ , he observed, and he could hear rushing water. Spy hadn't dragged him too far from where they'd washed up, then.

Spy had taken out his butterfly knife, nudging the point into the tip of his finger and scrutinising the blade, inspecting for scratches. He glanced up and locked eyes with Sniper, the gleam of his knife reflecting in his icy eyes. He tightened his grip around the handle, eyes unblinking. Sniper sluggishly got to his feet, knees cracking. He gave the BLU a dirty look before turning, following the sound of the water. Spy watched him go.

Down at the water front, he admired the shimmering reflection of the full moon – a brilliant, glistening circle of silver. He had to clear his head and make sense of the situation. What the hell was he going to do about the BLU Spy? The man was a double-crossing scoundrel, it certainly couldn't be safe to stick around him. He wadded down to the water's edge and washed off the dried blood encrusted on his hands. His reflection looked as bad as he felt. He ran his fingertips over the hastily constructed splint, courtesy of Spy.  _But he did save my life._  Why had he done that? Sniper was unsure of the reason, but it sure as hell wasn't due to some innate, saintly disposition.

Something on the bank caught his eye. "Crikey," He scooped up his akubra and gave it a one handed squeeze, shaking dead leaves and water droplets off like a dog "That's lucky," He chuckled, slapping the damp hat on his head were it drooped like a Dali piece. It wasn't lucky enough; his camper was still back at the BLU base, plus he'd lost both his rifle and his kukri in the commotion. He was out here in the middle of nowhere – alone and unarmed - with  _him_. Sniper looked up at the moon. If there was anyone up above, they were having a hell of a time messing with him.

He put off returning to the fire for as long as his chattering bones could take. When he finally did begin to make his way back, gathering birch bark and dry leaves to use as tinder, and grabbing some twigs and fuzzy sticks for kindling, he half expected Spy to appear and knife him. "Bloody Spy," He grumbled. He scooped up some parched sticks and plodded forward. If he was spending any more time out here, he was building a proper bloody fire.

Back at 'camp', Spy was clutching a twig between his fingers like a cigarette and looking sullen. Sniper sat opposite him and breathed heavily through his nose, dumping his scavenging's. No rifle, no van, no aviators, and no whisky. And a mangled wrist. He really was in bad shape. Spy, on the other hand, remained fully suited – complete with mask and gloves. There were a few nicks here and there, but on the whole he didn't appear too dishevelled. His tie was absent from his neck but not missing; instead, it was secured around the wound on his thigh. The mask seemed senseless to Sniper at this point, given the situation. After all, there was no more 'BLU' or 'RED', so why was Spy keeping it on? It only aggravated his suspicions.

But it was the revolver napping in the masked man's lap that really made him nervous.

Spy caught him staring. "You have no weapons." he acknowledged. Sniper wanted to punch him again.

"Well done." he snapped. "I'm going back fer my van at sunrise."

"No, you're not."

"Nah? An' whose gonna stop me?" he asked. "Cause you're not."

Something flashed in Spy's eyes. "We cannot go back. The base could be swarming with machines."

" _We_  don't have to go back, but  _I_  am."

Spy swore at him in French and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you such an imbecile? We have spoken about this; if you want to survive and avenge your comrades, then  _we_  need to leave here and-" Spy's sentence broke as he raised the back of his hand and yawned deeply into it. His shoulders slumped forward and he rubbed his eyes. It was such a human thing to witness an enemy do. It made Sniper uncomfortable. "-find out where Gray Mann is hiding." Spy finished.

Sniper looked away. "Just get some sleep." He laced his fingers together and leaned forward on his knees, tipping his hat so it covered his face. "You can fail to dissuade me at sunrise."

Spy snorted and walked away, sitting against a tree a little further left, eyes closed and breathing relaxed. Sniper watched him for a time. He'd always watched people. Read them. A good hunter always observers his pray in their natural habitat. Then again, out here in the wild, Spy was as far from his natural habitat as he could get.

It was later, when Sniper considered removing his boots to dry his socks, that he remembered his flick knife. He felt a warmth flow through him, a distinctive feeling of safety. Even such a small knife was a means of protection that instantly made him feel more secure.

_I could kill him._  Sniper considered this as he continued to watch the other man, chest slowly rising and falling. Cautiously, he bent down and rolled up his pant leg. He checked over at Spy again but he was out for the count. Sniper slid his boot off and turned it over an open palm. No Knife fell into his hand. It landed, instead, a few feet in front of him. The unanticipated  _clank_  it made caused him jump and he looked over at Spy, who'd lazily tossed the knife over.

"One piece of advice, bushman." His voice was low. "If you do decide to kill me with that, you'd best succeed on your first try. Because if you fail - I won't kill you. I will make you beg for death." Sniper gawked over at him, boot still dangling lamely over his hand.

Spy leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes again, revolver firmly in hand.

..

Gray Mann watched the flickering images with tight lips. The camera feedback from the machines who had seen the targets was brilliantly displayed upon large, glowing screens that would put the grandest cinema hall to shame. He had known that the BLU Spy would survive, but the RED Sniper? And they're working together? He watched the grainy images of the RED Sniper tumbling from a window at Gravel Pit, and then one of his Spybots approaching to blow his brains out. Only then to have that BLU-loving French asshole shoot his bot and drag the RED away.

The rage bubbled up slowly, his pale, skeletal fingers curling around the arms of his chair. He acknowledged the presence behind him and hissed. "You," his knuckles were white "You had  _one_  job."

The man stepped up to Gray and hummed. He was sharply dressed but unmasked, for once. "I had two actually," the man said. "One was successful, and the other will be when your robots catch up to them." He lit a cigarette.

Gray Mann snorted. "Every second that passes with your Sniper and BLU rival scurrying about is just damaging your credibility further," he slammed his fists down onto the arm rests. " _Fix_  it, Spy"

The RED Spy looked lazily down at his watch, as if his orders were a great inconvenience. "Fine," he turned on his heel. "I'll deal with them myself." His expensive shoes clacked on the shiny, marble floor as he left, a trail of smoke lingering behind. He couldn't believe his BLU counterpart had survived. He'd snap that slender neck with his bare hands.

"Oh and one more thing," Spy turned at Gray's voice.

"Yes?"

"Before you go, be sure to check in on your Medic." A wicked grin tugged at the leathery edges of his lips. "Can't have him dying out on us."

The RED Spy nodded and left without a word.

..

Sniper had a good fire going in no time.

By daybreak, his clothes were dry and his relentless shivering had subsided. He'd spent the better part of the night turning his belt into a sling, fumbling awkwardly with only one good hand. The pain was still grating, but bearable. He looked over at the sleeping Frenchman, still clutching his revolver. Still wearing a three piece fucking suit and mask in the forest. Sniper made a face and unconsciously shook his head.

"Stop that." Said Spy.

"What?"

"Watching me sleep," he opened one eye. "It's a little unnerving."

"It's sunrise." Sniper dropped his gaze. "You gonna sleep all day or what?"

Slowly, Spy leaned forward and set aside his revolver to stretch and rub his eyes. His spine popped and he groaned, instinctively padding himself for a cigarette, frowning when he remembered he had none. He clutched his wounded thigh before standing, dusting himself off. Before he'd even straightened up, Sniper looked over. "I'm going back for my van."

Spy exhaled loudly, throwing his arms up. "You are insufferable."

Sniper shrugged. "Need my van," he scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "And my rifle."

"You need a reality check." Spy limped to him. His hand was tremoring again, but he didn't seem to notice Sniper eyeing it. "We do not stand a chance against those things right now; you have a broken wrist and I can barely walk. And if you go back alone, you will die." He smiled, but it was ugly. "Unless you think that butter knife in your shoe will be of any use."

Sniper rubbed his splint. "Look," he began. "Ya helped me last night. I dunno  _why_ , but you didn't do it outta the goodness of yer heart, which means you need me for something. But I'm not goin anywhere until I get my van and my rifle, so you either take me there, or I track my way back without you."

Spy glared at him. His blue eyes were sharp and so pale that, even when he wasn't angry, he was an intimidating man to stare down. His jaw and neck muscles bulged and his nostrils flared with each breath. His hand was still trembling.

"How  _you_  managed to survive Gray's attack is beyond me." was all Spy offered before abruptly storming off. Sniper took his chances and followed him.

They walked in hostile silence for a long time, trekking around the serrated cliff edge, both slightly hoping the other would fall and die despite themselves. Sniper remained a few paces behind his reluctant company, who was clearly still seething. Spy's wounded leg caused him to limp but he was trying hard to hide it. The sun was high and the weather seemed to be heading in an overcast direction, which was fine with Sniper. He was busy being distracted by how much he needed his whisky. Eventually, he picked up his pace to walk side by side with Spy.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. "We hate each other."

Spy kept his eyes ahead, breathless from the excursion. "Because I need your help too."

His honesty surprised Sniper. Then again, not a single one of Spy's teammates had survived. The man was even more alone in this world than Sniper, who was clinging to the hope that his Medic and Spy were still alive to preserve his sanity.

Spy side-glanced him. "Tell me, why did you come to our base?"

"Didn't even consider you guys coulda been attacked as well," Sniper shrugged. "After I found everyone I …" he paused, chewing the words a little. "I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I decided to try contact Miss Pauling. Thought she could look at security footage and tell me what happened r'somthin."

Spy squinted. "You did not witness the attack?"

"Nah," he ducked his head. "I was in me van."

Spy nodded and clucked his tongue. "Then you were lucky." Quiet followed for a few more minutes. Only the sound of Spy panting and their heavy footsteps travelled down the precipice.

"Where you there when your team, you know," Sniper cleared his throat. "When they died?" Spy took so long to reply, Sniper thought he'd chosen not to answer.

"I was there." He said finally. "I was still recuperating in the infirmary from our battle the previous day. You recall our encounter; you skewered me with your ugly, over-compensatory knife?"

Sniper remembered. RED won the days battle and he'd spent the rest of the evening recounting how he'd gutted the BLU Spy to Demoman. He thought of that night, how he and his team celebrated their victory. The sense of belonging he felt. His heart sank. He nodded for Spy to keep talking.

"Our Medic's medi-gun malfunctioned after that battle, no doubt the work of Gray Mann - left us vulnerable to his attack. He made sure that when he killed us, we'd stayed dead."

"Yeah," Sniper's grimaced. "The doc said something bout his medi-gun playin up."

"Gray Mann has always been thorough," Spy said softly. "When our base was attacked by those things I was still unconscious. Medic had me sedated while he tried to fix his gun but, when he realised what was happening," he paused, snorting in reminiscence. "He hid me in a body bag with a scalpel. He must have known he wasn't going to survive, but decided to save me … when I came to, I used the scalpel to cut myself free."

"Then you found your team?" Sniper harked back to stumbling into his own base. Finding his friends smeared over the interior. "Did you try to contact Miss Pauling too?"

Spy seemed a little taken aback. "You know?"

"That whoever ran RED also ran BLU? Yeah, I figured as much."

"Well that's not exactly true," said Spy. "RED and BLU were separately owned by two brothers. They hated one another, and neither was terribly bright. Their greed allowed the Administrator to play them off one another, and Miss Pauling helped her."

Sniper scratched his nose. "Dunno why it was so hushed up – s'long as they paid well enough, none of the team woulda given two shits about it bein some big game between two rich geezers."

"The administrator has her own agenda too," Spy hissed through his teeth as his leg grew increasingly painful. "Or rather,  _did_. She was the first person on Gray Mann's list."

"Jesus, you don't mean Miss Pauling…?"

"I don't know. I did try to contact her from Gravel Pit, but received no reply. I was able to uncover an emergency message advising her to run, so one can assume she's in hiding."

"But you don't know?"

"Are you deaf as well as witless?"

"Shit." Sniper hawked up and spat to the side, causing Spy to make a face at him. "And this 'Gray Mann' you keep yammering on about?" he removed his akubra, wiped his sweaty forehead. "More importantly, why's he huntin me down when I only just heard of him yesterday?"

"You worked for his brother Redmond." Said Spy. "That's reason enough to want you dead."

"That's a lotta piss," Sniper grumbled. "I didn't even know my boss was called Redman."

"Redmond," Spy corrected. "And their third brother was named Blutarch."

"Oh, for fuck sake." Sniper scoffed. "So both of our teams were murdered for some stupid rivalry that none of us even bloody knew about?" he leered. "'Scuse me, nodody but  _you_."

"Your Spy knew too."

Sniper paused. "What, it was 'for spies eyes only' information?"

Spy's limp was far worse than it had started out as, his face visibly pained under his mask. "Do you ever stop  _talking_?" he snapped. "It is bad enough that I have to look at you and deal with your pungent odour, Bushman. If it's not too difficult for you, do put your lips together and  _keep_  them like that."

"Any more of that an I'll open yer other bloody leg, ya fruit loop." Sniper fell behind so he didn't have to walk next to the surly Frenchman. When he was a bit back, he gave his armpit a quick sniff.  _Don't smell that bad, bloody Spy._

Neither spoke the rest of the trudge back to Gravel Pit.

It didn't take as long as Sniper had initially estimated, even with Spy's limp. The day had turned bright, highlighting the sorry state of the pair. They were bruised and bloody; their clothes torn and dishevelled to substitute as makeshift bandages, their damp night in the woods leaving them muddy. To top it off, neither man had had a cigarette all day. Spy looked about ready to lose it when he stopped.

"There," he breathed. "That's the valley leading to the base, over that mound."

"Right." Sniper began to stride ahead.

Spy stopped him. "I'll go. I still have my cloaking device." He looked the taller man up and down. "And you can't do anything right." Sniper gave him the finger. He fiddled with his watch and vanished into the air, but his limp made his footsteps heavier and Sniper's keen ears detected the direction he was taking. He had a bad feeling about this.

When Spy reached the top of the gravel mound, he stopped and unexpectedly decloaked. He stood, surveying in plain sight. Sniper's stomach done somersaults. What the fuck was he  _doing_? His mind instantly bounded to treachery and he crouched to pull out his flick knife.

"Sniper," Spy called down. "Come here." Sniper warily made his was to Spy's side with his knife in hand. He was going to cut the double-crossing sonovabitch to shreds. He  _knew_  the BLU couldn't be trusted he- Sniper nearly dropped his flick knife when he followed Spy's gaze. Where the Gravel Pit base once stood, there remained only a large dune of smouldering, decaying debris. And where his old camper van once sat, there lingered only a smoking crater.

Spy tutted. "Gray Mann was always thorough." He pursed his lips, regarding Sniper who put his face in his hands. "Bushman?"

Half-heartedly, Sniper drew his fingers up from his face and through his hair. The corners of his lips pulled down. "My whisky was in that van."


	3. Chapter 3

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Sniper stood before the remnants of his van – his home – and swore under his breath. He kicked the gravel at his feet. "Everythin I owned was in that van."

"So you keep saying." Spy had grown impatient with standing on his wounded leg and had taken to sitting on a small gravel mound, drumming his fingers on his knee. His forced abstinence from nicotine had left him even more snarky than usual and he couldn't sit at peace. Keeping his jacket, gloves and mask on in what had evolved into a blisteringly hot day probably wasn't helping. Sniper caught him popping some pills into his mouth with the corner of his eye.

"Hey,"

"What?" Spy's eyes narrowed as he concealed the pill bottle in his hands.

Sniper took a deep breath, adjusting his belt-sling to sit more comfortably. "What the hell are we going to do?" Spy considered their options, nibbling on his thumb.

"We walk," He said eventually. "And we flag down a vehicle."

"What's the point?" Exhaustion and defeat clung to Sniper like a bad smell and he slumped like a half filled sandbag. It was risky, but Spy decided to give the man some incentive. He needed the RED to cooperate.

"We walk," he repeated as he stood. "We track Gray Mann down to his headquarters. We save your Medic."

Sniper looked up. "My Medic?"

"One of the bodies you could not find was his, yes?" Spy folded his arms. "That's because Gray Mann wanted him."

Sniper closed his eyes and made a few syllables, tripping over himself for what to say. Eventually he settled with yelling. "When were you going to tell me this!?"

"After you'd retrieved your van."

"That  _bastard_!" He paced about, suddenly animated. "What's he want with him?" Sniper rubbed a dirty hand over his stubble. "Jesus, I was wonderin why Medic and Spy weren't-" he stopped, every muscle tensing. "Our spy."

Sniper looked over at the BLU, who'd become uncharacteristically tense. He could not believe it hadn't occurred to him before. Spy watched uneasily as Sniper stalked up to him, resembling more a predatory animal than a man. "I'm only gonna ask you this once, Spy." He grit his teeth. "Did you or our Spy work for Gray Mann?"

Spy blinked at him. "Yes," he admitted. "We both did, at one point."

Sniper remained silent for some time, thinking. When his fist did collide with Spy's face, it sent him whirling. He hit the ground with a grunt, blood spilling down from his lip.

"You dirty sonovabitch," Sniper spat at him. His mind raced back to all the encounters he'd had with his colleague at RED, of how their Spy never interacted with the others off-field, how he seemed to delight in teasing and snooping and hiding - how his whole character was an obvious fabrication. Sniper had always put it down to him being European.

Spy wiped some of the blood away with his sleeve but remained on the ground, shaking his head in an effort to clear it. "Was he Gray's from the start?" Sniper demanded. "Did Gray send him to spy on us, and you to BLU?" When he was given no reply he grabbed Spy by his lapels and hauled him to his feet. "You slimy, treacherous-"

"You misunderstand," Spy grabbed his wrist and tried to pry himself free, but was pulled onto his tip-toes for the effort. "I can only speak for myself but yes, initially I was sent to BLU as Gray Mann's agent, but when I questioned his motives he …" he trailed off.

"He what!?"

He squeezed Snipers unbroken wrist. "He terminated my contract. The work I carried out for BLU after that was done loyally, and with BLU's best interests in mind. I never saw Gray Mann again." His expression hardened. "I had no idea he planned to murder us all."

"And our spy at RED?"

"Yes, he also worked for Gray Mann, but I don't know how long-" Sniper shook his head, his mind was racing.

"You're lyin!"

"No, I'm not." He tried again to pull away, but Sniper held on with an iron grip. "I don't know if he remained with Gray Mann, nor do I know if he was already aware of the massacre."

Snipers good hand left Spy's lapels and wrapped around his throat. His whole body shook with rage as he leaned into that masked face, their noses almost touching. "I'll fucking kill you." He squeezed Spy's throat, feeling the sensation of warm blood pulsing beneath his fingers. Spy leaned across and put his lips to Snipers ear, deliberately forcing the grip on his neck to tighten. "Then you will have to squeeze  _harder_."

Sniper viciously shoved him away to avoid smacking him again. He took a few deep breathes and silently counted to ten. Spy frowned at him, rubbing his throat. When he calmed down, Sniper looked up. "So what does this Gray guy want with our doc?"

"I don't know," Said Spy, and he didn't appear to be lying. "My job was to gather information on BLU, not to ask questions about Gray. When I did try to find out more about my employer, my job with him ended. I stayed with BLU and never looked back. I don't know what Gray wants, or what he plans to do with your Medic."

Sniper's rage churned wordlessly, nostrils flaring like a bull ready to charge. He slowly looked Spy up and down and gave him and ugly, unfeeling smile. "How does it feel, knowing that the information you gathered for that man probably helped him slaughter yer whole team?" He waited; watched the muscles in Spy's jaw and neck throb, thought he could see conflicting emotions swarm behind those cold eyes. Spy kept his face unresponsive, let the blood from his lip soak his chin. They watched one another for a long time.

"He could still be dead." Sniper said quietly. "S'been a week. Doc could be dead."

"He could still be alive."

Sniper looked around, feeling lost and alone. "Just," he licked his lips. "Throw me a bloody bone here mate; tell me something- _anything_  you know about why Gray would want the doc?"

Spy considered this for a long moment. Eventually he huffed and dabbed his lip tentatively with his fingers. "Like his brothers, Gray Mann is trying to extend his life. He has already utilised all the equipment created by the BLU engineers over the decades, but it was your Medic who created the medi-gun. If I had to make a guess – and it is only that - I'd say that Gray wants him to create something similar in order to extend his life permanently."

Sniper pursed his lips. He didn't know if he still had the ability to hope, to ever trust the man before him. If his thirty seven years on this earth had taught him anything, it was that hope was for those who knew they simply had nothing else. "If you were such a dedicated BLU, why d'you care about my Medic? He's a RED."

"I don't care about him," Spy admitted. "But if he's alive and with Gray Mann, it means we have the common objective of wanting to stop whatever he has planned." He limped closer to Sniper, his voice dropping. "Gray Mann did not just murder my team, he may have used  _me_  to do it. I want to make him writhe and beg at my feet, but I need to deal with his Machines first and I cannot do that alone. I need your help. And you need mine if you want to find your Medic."

Sniper opened his mouth, but Spy continued before he could speak. "And your Spy."

"Yeah," said Sniper. "I got a few questions fer him alright."

"I'm sure you do."

"So you'll help me find my teammates if I help you deal with Gray Mann's machines," he said, the fingers of his slung hand twitching. Spy nodded. Sniper focused on the ground and rested a hand on his hip, wondering if he should just walk away. He sucked on his bottom lip, considering the proposed suicide mission.

Spy watched as he internally weighed the odds. "I'm surprised that you are not more enthusiastic about the idea of flirting with such danger."

Sniper snorted. "There's flirtin with danger and then there's dry-humpin it." He scratched his head and exhaled heavily, his mind made up. "All right," he said, and he extended a hand. "Deal?"

Spy grinned shook his hand. "Deal."

..

Medic could identify the vague shape of the person before him, but without his spectacles he could not make out who it was. He felt weighed down, as if a great mass was upon his chest. Where was he? He could not remember. He tried to force himself to sit up but was unable. His head was spinning, and he began to mumble in his native German. The person leaned very close to his face. Medic squinted up at the figure, trying to pinpoint any recognisable features. They were talking to him, but it sounded muffled in his ears, as if the voice was coming for a padded room. He requested his glasses in German and, when that didn't work, he asked for them in English. The figure didn't move.

When the room stopped revolving, he blinked the black spots from his vision. "Vhere am I?"

"Somewhere safe." Said the voice. Medic recognised it. He turned his head to the figure.

"Come closer." He asked. They figure obliged, and Medic felt a wash of relief when he made out a familiar, team-coloured pinstriped suit.

"Spy?" he rubbed his throbbing eyes and tried to sit up. "Vhat happened?"

"Hush now," the RED Spy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and eased him back down. "You were in an accident."

"Accident?" Spy nodded. Medic took in his scarce surroundings. The one, tiny window was barred and he realised that the large mirror facing him was two-way. The room wasn't familiar, and certainly was not his infirmary. "Vhere am I?" he repeated.

When Spy's face finally came as into focus as his short sightedness would allow, Medic was alarmed to see him unmasked. He'd seen his face before; being the team's doctor, he had treated any and all facial wounds, but it was clear to see that Spy was not injured.

"Vhat happened?" He could hear a heart monitor beeping behind him. "Vhere is everyvone else?"

"We will discuss everyone else later," said Spy. "First, I'd like to make sure that you're not hurt."

"I'm fine, Ve-" He tried to sit up again and was forced down by Spy, ungently this time. "Vhat is going on? Vhere are zhe others?" He began to panic. He tried to sit up once again, shoving Spy's hands away when he tried to protest. "Verdammt Spy, vhat is going on!?"

The RED Spy's patience was spent. He wrapped his fingers around his Medic's throat and shoved him down, pressing him back into the pillow until his eyes bulged. "My condolences," Spy said through his teeth, releasing his grip. "But we are the only surviving members of RED."

It took a minute for his words to sink in as Medic gaped at him. "No. Vhat have you …. Vhat have you done?" Spy turned away from him and signalled toward the mirror. As Medic made to grab Spy, two burly men dressed all in grey bundled into the room. Medic was already on his feet but, weak from his long period of immobility and dazed from what he had just learned, he was quickly and easily seized.

"I'm so sorry Doctor," Spy sighed. He wore a twisted smile that made Medic's heart sink as the puzzle pieces fit together. "I should leave while you get some rest."

The men in grey manhandled Medic down and strapped him to the bed, one narrowly missing a hook to the jaw from Medic as he continued to fight. His struggles became frantic when one of the men brought out a thick needle, about an inch long. The other man yanked up Medics sleeve and the injection was administered into the outer area of his upper arm. "No! Vhat are you giving me!? Spy! Vhat are you doing!? No- _no_ -get zhem off of me!" the needle was painfully withdrawn and Medic spat in the man's face. He looked up at his teammate through glazed eyes and reached out a restrained hand, pleading. "Spy," he whispered "Help me."

Spy smirked down at him with lidded eyes. "When you are ready to help us," he said. "We will help you." He left the room, flanked by the men, and the last to exit the room banged the door shut. The room was engulfed in pitch blackness. When memories of the machines attacking the RED base and cutting through his comrades swam back into his mind, Medic threw his head back and screamed.

Spy's ears tickled at the sound as he walked down the hall. It was time to deal with Sniper and his newfound BLU buddy.

..

They had been walking along the roadside for nearly a two hours before a shabby car came into view. The driver was a middle-aged man with a beard who, judging by his girth, probably ate about six large meals a day. Sniper held has hand out and hailed the car, feeling awkward. "Never done this before." he muttered. Spy snorted and stayed back.

The driver did not look at them and kept his foot on the gas, but must have reconsidered at the last minute, as he hit the brakes nearly too late and Sniper had to jog to the window. The big man dangled his arm out and looked up. "Where ya headin', boy?"

Sniper ducked down, but before he could reply the man's eyes drifted over his shoulder and went wide. He began to whimper, throwing his hands in the air. "I-I don't have no money!"

"Get out of the car," Spy's voice came from behind him. "Slowly." Sniper turned to see Spy aiming his revolver and gave him a look. Spy ignored it, so he rolled his eyes and side-stepped the firing range. The man slowly but clumsily got out of the car.

"Give me your keys, empty your pockets and lay face down on the ground." The man complied, droning on about being broke and the president of his churches council. Spy handed the keys to Sniper. "Go start the car."

"Right." Sniper tipped his hat to the man on the ground. "Thanks, mate." He hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine, adjusting the mirrors. He would need Spy to work the gear stick now that his slung up wrist had swollen to three times its natural size. He peered around and dusted the dashboard a little. When he spotted a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment he smiled, slipping them on his face. He had not driven a car like this since his twenties, having owned his camper van for almost a decade. It felt so cramped. As he checked his new eyewear in the mirror with a goofy grin, a gunshot echoed out over the vast landscape. He checked his side mirrors but Spy and the man were out of view, occupying his blind spot.

When Spy got into the car and slammed the door he had a wallet in his hand. He eyed Sniper's sling and then rested his gloved hand on the stick, shifting it into gear without asking. "Drive." As the car pulled away from the roadside, Sniper checked his mirror, watching as the man's motionless body became smaller and smaller.

After a few minutes of pushing a hundred miles an hour, Sniper dropped down to his cruising speed of about seventy. He side-glanced Spy, who was staring ahead with an unreadable expression. "Was that necessary back there?" he asked. "Killin him?"

"Oh don't get sanctimonious with me," He rolled his eyes. "We needed the car and the money. And as I was the only one whose face was covered, he would have just given your description to the police."

Sniper nodded. "Fair enough."

"Technically," Spy emptied some pills into his hand "that makes it your fault he's dead." He popped them into his mouth.

"Let's not go nuts," Sniper sighed. "We got some wheels and some cash, so now we can actually make some sort of game plan."

A lit cigarette magically appeared between Spy's lips. When Sniper gave him an expectant look, he was reluctantly offered one of the late-drivers smokes. He inhaled deeply and relaxed into his seat. "Needed this," he said to himself. "Could go a drink though."

"I'll go out on a limb and assume you don't mean water?"

Sniper scowled at the road. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spy shrugged. "Nothing."

"Damn right, nothin" He shot back, watching the road. When Spy transferred his cigarette from one hand to the other, Sniper caught his hand tremoring again.

"Yer hand's shaking." He said, irritation still evident in his voice. "Noticed that a few times since yesterday." Spy did not acknowledge the comment.

"That what the pills are for?"

"Mind your own business." Said Spy, turning to look out of the window. He rubbed his injured thigh. Satisfied that he'd sufficiently annoyed his already testy passenger, Sniper dropped the topic and returned to surveying ahead.

After nearly an hour of silent, uncomfortable tension Sniper spoke again. "Look. If  _this_ ," he motioned between them "is gonna work, we're gonna need some, y'know," he considered the phrase. "Ground rules."

Spy didn't look at him. "I assume you have some in mind?"

"No more lyin to me fer a start." Said Sniper. "If we're in this together then you have t'be honest with me. If I find out you've been lying to me about Medic or Spy or Gray Mann r'whatever – the deals off and I'll blow your bloody head off." Spy arched his eyebrows, unamused by the threat.

"And no hiding things either." Sniper continued. "None of this 'I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you' bullshit. If there's anything about Gray Mann, his machines, about RED and BLU, about  _you_  that I should know before we do this, ya need to tell me now or-"

"Let me guess," Spy swivelled his head to look at him. "You'll blow my bloody head off?"

"Exactly." Said Sniper. "And I guess you have something to add, huh?"

Spy stumped his cigarette out, instantly replacing it with another. "My only request is that you refrain from getting me killed. If you can help it; don't be stupid, don't be careless, and don't get in my way." he inhaled smoke. "If that's not too much for you."

Sniper didn't take the bait. "Goes both ways."

"Realistically not." Spy turned away again. The silence that followed was not as unbearable. With their precarious truce agreed upon, the next step was to live long enough to recover from their injuries. They would need to find somewhere to acquire clean clothes, supplies – and, more importantly, lots of weapons. 


	4. Chapter 4

"It would be wise to lay low for a while. That wrist will need to heal up," Spy gestured to the swollen limb hanging in Sniper's sling. "We need medical supplies and ammo - you need weapons. And we must assume that Gray Mann's agents will be hunting men who fit our description, so we will need to appear less conspicuous."

Sniper snorted. "So you'll be losing the balaclava then?"

Spy parted his lips but said nothing. He closed them again and kept his eyes forward. Apparently he had not considered that.

Sniper frowned. "Well? Jumpin about in a mask is about the most conspicuous thing ya can do." Spy remained silent, thin lipped. "You listenin?"

"I have not removed my mask in years." He blurted out, instantly regretting it.

"Really?" Sniper glanced at him. "In  _years_?" Spy fell into silence once more. The car rumbled over a cluster of potholes, each shock sending pain up the base of Snipers spine. He grimaced and shifted in his seat. "Well, why not?"

His passenger considered his response for a long time. "The same reason that you obscure your face with a hat and glasses, I suppose." He sniffed, trying to look casual. "In a profession such as ours, a mask of any form can only aid in self-preservation."

He understood that the last thing an assassin needed was a witness to see their face, but that was not why Sniper wore his hat and glasses. Not really. Unlike Spy, his contracts were carried out from a distance, thus targets rarely had the opportunity to see him. If anybody were ever to stumble upon one of his designated nests, well, that was what the kukri was for. Spy's preferred method was to get up close and personal, consequently increasing the risk of description and possible later identification. But they were not currently on  _that_  type of job. "Yer being paranoid." Said Sniper. "If you've kept that thing on fer so long, then there's nobody out here to recognise what's underneath."

Spy gave him an ominous look. "There's you."

"Oh." Said Sniper. "You'll be wantin to kill me after all this if I see your face, then?" No verbal reply was given. "Look, I get it, we're in the same line of work and all that. But you've seen my mug plenty. So maybe we should actually put this 'try to trust each other' thing into practice?"

"I don't know if I can."

"We made a  _deal_." Spy muttered something in French and nothing more. The car sped along the rutted road, every groove and furrow ramming up Snipers back. He was in no mood for another argument. He had known from the start that their unwanted alliance would be a fragile one, and knew how hypocritical it would be on his part to demand immediate trust from his passenger. It did not make their predicament any more endurable.

The day crawled by as Spy sat chain-smoking, occasionally adjusting the tie around his wounded leg. He would need proper bandages, and stitches if he could. Given the time that had passed since he had been cut by the machines blade, and the less-than-sterile surroundings he had withstood in the last day, Spy knew the probability of needing to treat himself for infection was high. As he continued to mentally list what supplies should take priority, the loud, drawn out grumble of Sniper's stomach began to moan. He cleared his throat and pushed his sunglasses up. "Not eaten since yesterday mornin."

"There is a twenty four hour diner roughly twenty miles from here," Spy said as he examined his cuticles. "The food is not magnificent but I'm sure it does not take much to impress their regular clientele."

"You've been there before?"

"I've been there," he nodded. "But not eaten there."

"Jesus," Sniper shook his head. "You're such a bloody snob."

"Displaying a modicum of taste and, I would argue, a justified concern for my health is not being a 'snob.'"

"Do you  _hear_  yourself when you talk?" Spy glowered and looked away, folding his arms. More miles went by. It was already early evening, the sun a little lower in the sky when the old car pulled into the diner parking lot. Sniper's appetite evolved into ravenous hunger the minute he opened the dingy driver-side door and got the pleasant waft of burgers from the diner window.

The pair must have been a sight for the regulars to behold; every patron present turned to stare as they entered. One young woman clutched her handbag, moving it out of sight. Sniper, with his makeshift splint and torn, bloodied shirt and Spy, with his limp and balaclava, were not going anywhere overlooked. Nonetheless, Sniper had a plan. He always had a plan. For anyone who enquired with a raised brow, he explained that they had attended a Scottish friend's stag party. Generally, that was all it took.

They sat at the counter and ordered, their attention focused on the food put before them, but their minds racing well beyond the confines of the roadside diner. Sniper may as well have inhaled his bacon, egg and cheese sandwich for all the time it took for him to consume it. He could not stop thinking about Medic. About Spy – his Spy. About Miss Pauling.

"There is a Motel another fifty miles from here," Spy interrupted his musings as he pushed his unfinished salad away. "We should stop there for the night."

Sniper knitted his brow. "Why? We could cover another four hundred miles tonight."

"Undoubtedly, given your driving." He sipped his water. "We need to clean our wounds as soon as possible to prevent infection. And we must start gathering supplies and ammo wherever possible. Putting distance between us and Gravel Pit will not slow Gray Mann's pursuit." They kept their voices hushed, scanning the patrons for signs of anything untoward.

Sniper hummed. "I'll be needing a new rifle." He said more to himself than to Spy. He signalled for the waitress, earning him a look from his dining partner when he ordered a dram of whisky. "Lay off." He warned.

Spy stabbed his finger at him. "You're  _driving_."

"Can you pull that stick out of your ass for two minutes? M'only having  _one_." He downed it in one gulp.

Three drams later, Sniper hopped into the driver's seat of their 'borrowed' vehicle with a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Spy got into the passenger seat more reluctantly, his lips pressed into a tight, unamused line. He emptied more pills into his hand before popping them into his mouth.

"The Sheila behind the counter said there's a store near this Motel that sells medical supplies and that," he started the engine. "I'll check it out once we've got rooms." Spy did not reply as he put the stick into gear and the car pulled out onto the dusty road.

They arrived at The Westerton Motel within the hour, its size small but welcoming. Of its twelve rooms, half were already occupied when Sniper approached the desk. As Spy had refused to remove his mask, Sniper feared they would be refused a room and insisted on checking them in himself. He fumbled with the stolen wallet Spy had flung at him. "Two single rooms please, mate." The receptionist smiled uneasily, eyeing his crude, improvised sling, but gave him a price. He grimaced when he realised his extra whisky had left him slightly under the price of two rooms.

Spy was unimpressed as he slowly said, "You got a double?"

Sniper shrugged. "With two beds, obviously."

His unwanted comrade scrutinised him. "You spent too much on whisky, didn't you?" Ignoring the comment, Sniper threw a key at him and shambled passed. He was uncomfortably aware of the attention his battered appearance would continue to reap, and conceded that he would have to indulge in buying some new clothes.

Following the directions given to him at the roadside diner, Sniper located the multi-purpose store without problem. He detested big stores like this one, found them claustrophobic. Too many people; far too close for comfort. Fortunately, his tattered exterior saw no one attempting small talk with him. He had always hated that. He purchased what he could afford and stole what he could not, quickly leaving with his hat pulled over his eyes. He would have very much preferred to stay away from Spy and his derision for longer, but concern that his shoulder could be infected drew him back prematurely.

"Oi," Sniper kicked their door open, both hands holding his paper shopping bag.. "I picked up some-" he stopped, gaping at the array of clothing scattered around the room. "-stuff."

Spy moseyed out of the en-suit bathroom. "You were taking too long," he was buttoning up a soft, black cardigan. "So I took the liberty of checking the locks on a few of our neighbour's rooms." Beneath the cardigan was a white turtleneck, and he now wore a pair of grey, pinstriped slacks and smart brogues. There was not an ill-placed smear visible, but any attempt at 'fitting in' was sabotaged by his persistently present mask.

"Bloody hell," Sniper set his bag down and closed the door. "Y'do realise that when they all go complainin to the owner that the maid's been nicking their stuff there'll be trouble, right?"

"For the maid." said Spy, lighting a cigarette. "Besides, we will be gone by then."

"Oh yeah?" Sniper put his hand in his hip. "Will this be before or after ya take  _that_  thing off?" he indicated the balaclava. The Frenchman's smile instantly evaporated. "Or did that lil' factor slip yer mind again?" The tension became palpable as they scowled at one another. Spy turned his back on him. "Christ, I can't believe ya wandered about the motel like that," Sniper messaged his temple.

Spy rolled his eyes. "Obviously nobody saw me."

"S'not the point."

"It is precisely the point." He marched to the door and seized the handle with his thin fingers. "People cannot see someone who is, for all intents and purposes, not there." He pressed a button on his watch and vanished. The handle turned on its own, and the door opened and closed as if cursed by dark magic. Sniper glared at the door for a moment before removing his sunglasses and tossing them on a bed.

After a long and thorough shower he grabbed some of the scattered clothes, not pausing to consider what was 'fashionable', and retrieved the bandages he had purchased from the store. He sat on the edge of a bed and set to work on his wrist. It was awkward with only one good hand, but he eventually redressed his wrist and slid it snugly into a proper sling. He felt several pounds lighter now that he was clean, though his face was still creased with fatigue.

After applying an adhesive dressing to his shoulder wound, Sniper pulled a large bottle from the bottom of his bag. He was already salivating with anticipation. He tugged the cap unsteadily and tossed his head back, gulping down a spine-stiffening belt of whisky. When the bottle came away from his dry lips, a trickle ran down his chin. He breathed heavily through his nose.  _Oh God, he had needed that._

..

As he wandered around the motels property, completely invisible to the naked eye, Spy tried to convince himself that he was not being unreasonable. He knew that despite any change in appearance he and his insufferable new ally could adapt, they would never escape for long. All of the civilised world and elsewhere was susceptible to appearing on Gray's large screen. Spy knew that Gray Mann would be exhausting the most sophisticated facial recognition software to date, one still unknown beyond the confines of his headquarters, and he would have agents hunting through his databases of millions of images - day and night - to track him down. And Gray Mann knew what he looked like beneath his mask.

He looked up at the sky as a flock of gulls passed over head. Spy could identify many places to stock up on weapons and ammo that could be reached in a matter of days, but they were BLU and RED supply bases. He could not – would not – take the chance of going there now. He could continue to rob lone drivers at gun point, but even that had its risks, even if it was only local law enforcement. Spotting what he had been looking for, Spy stepped into the phone booth and slipped some coins into the tray.

He had not considered contacting her since his torture - had never been able to bring himself to try. Yet, here he was. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lip, feeling the result of Sniper's fist. He dropped and crushed his cigarette underfoot and punched in the number quick enough so as to have no time to dissuade himself. Has hand shook, and he kept his eyes closed. The only sound in the world was the dial tone. He felt conflicting feelings of sorrow and relief when nobody seemed to be picking up. He sighed.

As he made to rest the phone back in its cradle, a voice spoke through the receiver. "Bonjour?" it said. Spy quickly pressed the phone to his ear, his heart jumping into his throat. He had not heard her voice in years. When he did not reply, the woman continued. "Bonjour? Puis-je vous aider?" He remained silent. The woman continued to enquire in French but eventually gave up, setting the phone down and leaving Spy alone in the booth.

 _Héléne_ , he envisioned her face behind his lids.  _How could you ever forgive me?_  His cold eyes hardened and he stepped out of the booth, wrapping his bitterness around himself like a protective cloak.

When he reluctantly returned to the motel room, darkness had long since fallen. He was in no mood for Sniper's inane drivel, choosing instead to sneak in undetected. He unlocked the door and was greeted by darkness and, he could have sworn, the sound of a bear snarling. Spy made a face and flicked the nearest lamp on.

"Good God, Sniper." The RED was sprawled out on his back, long legs dangling over the edge with one boot missing. He was snoring loudly, the crook of his arm covering his face. His neatly bandaged arm was hanging limply over the side of the bed, and beneath it on the floor lay an empty whisky bottle. Spy scrunched his nose up.

"Bushman," he gave him a shake. Sniper stirred. "Roll onto your side, I'll never sleep with you snuffling like some kind of boar." And, as hilarious as it would be, he could not allow Sniper to choke on his vomit. Spy shook him harder. Sniper's bloodshot eyes flickered as he slurred nonsense under his breath, finally turning onto his side with Spy's insistence. His snoring persisted, albeit much quieter. Spy shook his head, threw a coat over him, and walked over to his own bed.

..

Sniper felt sand beneath his feet and smiled, wiggling his toes.  _It must be spring_ , he thought as the rich scent of freshly cut grass and sweet blossoms skipped rings around him. He could taste it on his tongue. Ricky stood across from him holding a ball, stripped with blue, yellow and white. The boy gently placed it on the ground and kicked it, smiling when Sniper stopped it with his bare foot. He looked at his own skinny legs and realised he was ten again.

'Come on,' said Ricky. 'Kick it back to me!' Sniper did. The sun was burning above them, too hot for a spring day. When the ball rolled and softly hit Ricky's foot he did not move. His little shoulders had dropped and he allowed his head to hang low as if barely supported by his neck, his sandy fringe drooping over his eyes.

'Ricky?' Sniper approached him, kicking sand. 'What's wrong?' The boy ignored him, staring down at the ball silently, breathing quickly. Sniper touched him. 'Ricky?'

When he did look up, Ricky's mouth was pulled down in a grotesque grimace and his eyes were filled with black hatred. Sniper snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. 'Why didn't you help me, Mick?' His voice sounded eerily echoic, as if in possession of multiple tongues and, despite the heat, Ricky's breath was visible and misty. Sniper began to slowly back away, but Ricky mimicked his steps forward. 'Do you know what he did to me?' the voices demanded. The sun was red-hot above them. Ricky reached out to him, his hand a mangled, deformed claw. ' _Do you know what he did to me because of you!?_ '

Snipers eyes flew open to gaze up at the dusty motel ceiling. The room was dark and quiet, save for his pounding heartbeat. When the ability to move returned to him he looked to his right, surprised to see Spy sleeping soundly across the room. He must have blacked out last night. He sat up and put his sweaty face in his hand, feeling nauseas. He was shaking as he checked the clock; 7:23 am. He looked over at Spy again, whose back was to him. He slowly got off the mattress, careful not to let the springs creak. He removed the one boot that remained on and snuck over to his bag.  _I'm so fucking done with these nightmares_. He threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure Spy had not stirred before pulling a fresh bottle of whisky out and leaning back on his haunches. He tip-toed into the bathroom with his bag, quietly closing the door.

He sat on the side of the bath and opened the bottle, hating himself. His hands and legs were shivering uncontrollably, and he struggled to knock back several long swigs of whisky before pulling the bottle away, spilling some down his vest. He coughed at the pleasant burn in his throat and exhaled a shaky breath. A few more gulps and he tucked the bottle back in the bag, stuffing it in the wastebasket. He quickly brushed his teeth and checked his shoulder before opening the door.

"Good morning." Said Spy. He was right in front of him.

Sniper yelped and jumped backwards. "Jesus Christ!" he clutched his chest. "Ya scared the hell outta me!"

"Apologies," Spy's eyes travelled down and back up him. "Starting early?"

His whole body stiffened as if grabbed by some supernatural force. "What d'you mean?"

"The day," Spy said coolly. "You're starting it early. It's not even eight yet."

He visibly relaxed. "That's lazy French-talk," he said, scratching his stubbly chin. "Eight's not early."

Spy hummed. "Are you quite finished?"

"What?"

"With the bathroom," said Spy. "Are you done in here?"

"Oh," Sniper grinned awkwardly and squeezed passed him. "Yeah, s'all yours." Spy entered the bathroom but did not close the door as Sniper returned to sit on his bed, running a shaky hand through his hair. His head was spinning.

Then from the bathroom, "So do you remember our conversation last night?"

Sniper's blood turned to ice in his veins and he suddenly felt very queasy. "What?"

"Last night," Spy called out in a distant voice. "You remember what we spoke about once I got back?"

Well, shit. Sniper licked his lips and put his face in his good hand, screwing his eyes shut as if trying to will away a nightmare. "Uuhh," he groaned. "Yeah, well, I mean…" silence from the bathroom. "Yeah."

"Are you going to apologise for the things you said to me?" Spy's voice asked. Sniper had blacked out rather early. He could not remember a damn thing. If he had given Spy an earful of abuse, it was not coming back to him. Shame and guilt flooded his senses.

"Listen, mate," he pulled himself off the bed and padded over to the bathroom. "I'm sorry for anything I said-" when he got to the door Spy was leaning on the edge of the sink. He had retrieved Sniper's stash from the waste basket and was now studying the label.

"Tell me," Spy looked up. "Is it 'lazy French-talk' to consider swallowing whisky prior to eight in the morning a little bit much?"

Sniper shifted on his feet in search of some stability, a bad taste developing on his tongue. Spy gave him a searing look. "You are a grown man, Sniper. I do not care what your vices are," His eyes narrowed. "But you are the one who gets behind the wheel of that car – knowing that  _I_  will be in the passenger seat." He bared his teeth. "You had no reservations with demanding that I not lie nor hide information from you, even information that could impede our progress if it got out. I had one request; that you do not get me killed. I simply asked you not to be stupid or careless." He held the bottle up, making sure to show every bit of his contempt. "So would you like to explain why you are in here chugging whisky at this hour, when you are supposed to be getting into a  _car_  with me later?"

Sniper stood with his chin tucked into his chest like a child who had just been scolded by his headmaster. "I only had one," he said pitifully. "Will be perfectly fit to drive later."

Spy snorted and gave him a repulsed look. "Say's the man who cannot even remember a thing from last night."

"What-" He looked up but could not hold Spy's frosty gaze. "-did we talk about?"

Spy let the silence linger, enjoying the taller man's plight a moment longer before answering. "Nothing." He pushed the bottle into Snipers hands. "You were asleep when I returned." He pushed passed him into the bedroom.

"But, you just said-"

"I lied." Spy snapped. "If you are going to forgo our deal of honesty, then so will I."

"No, listen mate-"

"I am not your  _mate_ , Bushman," he reeled around on him. "Honesty is something very dear to me, and as such I give it rarely. I gave you my word that I would not lie to you if you did not lie to me. You broke that promise, and you potentially put my safety at risk in doing so – violating my one and only condition of this …  _partnership_." He spat the word out like a piece of bad meat.

Sniper cradled his whisky bottle, his face burning, his dignity in tatters at his feet. Slowly, he put down the bottle and went over to his bed, were he sank to watch Spy's back. "Sorry," his voice was hoarse. "I went off on you about hiding and all that, then went right ahead and threw it back in your face. I swear it won't happen again." Spy did not acknowledge him, simply continuing to take stock of his items.

Sniper sighed deeply and rubbed his aching neck. "Everybody's allowed to mess up once, Spy. You didn't bloody tell me you worked for Gray Mann right away. I've said I'm sorry and it won't happen again, alright? Just…" Spy stopped what he was doing and turned, arching an expectant brow. "If there's anything I can do, I will."

Spy's expression softened by a fraction. He had never been a compassionate man, but he was human. The problem with trying to view Sniper with any form of understanding was their unique history. They had, after all, spent the last three years killing and maiming one another. "How long have you had a drinking problem?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Sniper frowned. "I don't have a drinking prob-" the remnants of his sentence withered and died under Spy's scowl. " … a few years." He said. "well, seven. Ten, kind of. It comes and goes."

Spy took a seat on his own bed, crossing his legs. "It only started up again recently?"

"You don't need to know the details."

"No, I don't." Spy eyeballed him intently. "So, it only started up again recently?" he repeated.

Sniper sighed, eyes anywhere other than the man across from him. "After I found my team. Not an unreasonable reaction really, but it's … it's hard to stop, once I've started."

Spy nodded. "Will you be able to spend the next few days without a drink?"

"Yeah." He fidgeted. "No problem."

Spy regarded him. "And the next couple of weeks?" Sniper flinched as if he had been punched in the gut.

"It is like I said, Bushman," Spy plucked out a cigarette and lit it. "We all have vices. I do not care if you wish to drink yourself into an early grave; we both knew our respective Demomen back with RED and BLU." He offered the pack to Sniper, who accepted it. "My problem is the dishonesty that will inevitably follow such a habit. I cannot stop you from drinking, you are an adult; you can make your own imprudent decisions. If you do decide to drink in the morning, fine. All I ask is that you tell me, so I know to drive that day." Sniper grunted and drew on his cigarette.

Spy scanned his tousled appearance, his eyes unblinking. "I'm amazed that a man in your line of work can be a drunk," he said coldly. "I imagine peering down a scope all day must require more than just luck, at least on occasion. Doesn't all that whisky affect your already limited concentration?"

Sniper scowled at the Frenchman's patronising tone and balled his fist in his lap. "Says the pill popper." His eyes flickered to the pocket he knew Spy's pill bottle was in and back up to his face. At that, Spy gave him the most hateful look he had ever given him, before slowly rising. He slammed the motel door as he left, leaving Sniper alone with his hangover.

But he did not get far. As Spy passed the front desk, he caught a glimpse of the morning's newspaper. Displayed on the front page, beneath a coffee ring and the bold title; ' _Executed on Roadside'_ , was a large photograph of the driver he had robbed. He turned his sights to the parking lot and saw the Motel manager standing by the stolen car, and he was talking to two police officers. One looked right at him.

Spy sucked air through his teeth. " _Merde_."


	5. Chapter 5

Sniper had already tugged on a slightly too-big mustard turtleneck and matching corduroy jeans upon Spy's sudden return, and was fumbling awkwardly to button up a green plaid shirt with one hand. He glanced up at Spy's hurried pace and scowled. "What's wrong?"

Spy did not look at him. Instead, he grabbed a backpack and began to shove bandages, water bottles and other supplies into it. "We need to leave."

"What's happened?" Sniper put his hat on and frowned. "What've you done now?"

"There are police officers inspecting our commandeered vehicle," said Spy, pulling on his leather shoulder holster and slinging the pack over his back. "They will be here soon."

"Fan-bloody-tastic."

"Indeed, now  _move_." Spy was already out of the door without him when Sniper grabbed his aviators and pocketed his flick knife. As he made to leave, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at his whisky bottle. He could hear footsteps marching toward the door, steel toecaps approaching with purpose. Sniper grunted and left without the bottle, catching up to Spy.

"I dunno how," said Sniper. "But I know this is your fault."

Spy tutted and rolled his eyes. "How is it my fault?"

"Yer wearing a bloody balaclava!"

" _Keep your voice down_." Spy snapped at him. They jogged quietly around the eastern wall of the building, toward the road. Fortunately it was still early, so there were no motel guests wandering around. When Spy noticed a beige Volkswagen beetle sitting on the road, the smartly dressed driver fiddling with a map, he grinned devilishly. It may as well have just been waiting for them.

He withdrew his revolver from his holster as he neared the window, motioning for Sniper to stay behind him. The driver looked out. "Hey Buddy, can you tell me-"

"Get out of the car," The drivers pale eyes stretched wide when the barrel of the gun was thrust into his face.

"Oh God!"

"Get out  _now_ ," Spy grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out just as the officers rounded the corner, their own weapons already drawn. When they aimed, Spy held the man before him like a human-shield, hiding half of his face behind the man's blonde, slicked back hair. "Come any closer and I will shoot!" he jabbed the barrel into the man's temple.

One of the officers sank to a crouching position, eyes obscured by dark glasses. "Put the gun down!"

Spy addressed Sniper without looking at him. "Get in and start the car," he began to pace around the front of the Volkswagen, tugging the blonde man with him. "You, in the passenger seat."

The second officer, shorter and with a slight beer gut, trotted forward when the hostage was shoved into the passenger side. "Let him go and put your hands where I can see them!" Spy's emotionless face did not react. He kept his revolver pressed into the seated man's head through the open window and got into the back seat, leaning forward to push the barrel of his gun into the man's temple again. "Put the car into gear." The man complied, but kept his eyes squeezed shut.

"Please don't kill me," he blubbered. "I have a wife and kids."

"Shut up," Spy nudged him. "Bushman, drive!" Sniper did. He slammed his foot on the gas when the man worked the gear stick for him, the fingers of his slung hand twitching. The officers were already running for their own car to fall into pursuit, a few bemused guests of the Westerton Motel beginning to shuffle out to investigate the commotion. The wheels screeched and smoked as the beetle whirled around, speeding down the road.

When the siren wailed and flashed in the mirror Sniper pulled a face. "Jesus, the roads straight for bloody miles," He licked his chapped lips, his hangover squeezing his brain tight. "How're we gonna lose them?"

"There is only one car for now, if we can deal with it before back up meets them, we may be able to hide."

"Easier said than done," Sniper murmured. "What we gonna do about your new mate?" he indicated the passenger, who remained frozen beneath Spy's gun barrel.

Spy did not blink. "Further ahead."

"F-further ahead?" said the man. "Oh please lord, I have two daughters at home, they-"

"Be quiet," Spy hissed. "One more word and you will never see them again." The man fell silent and gripped the edges of his seat, the sound of the wheels drumming below on the tarmac filling the void. Sniper was approaching a hundred and forty miles an hour when he grinned to himself.

"Hey," he said. "Ever see that film Bullitt with Steve McQueen?"

Spy made a face at him in the rear view. "What do you think?"

"Film was ace," he ignored Spy's glare and turned to their hostage. "You see it?"

"Uh…" the man swallowed hard.

Spy poked him with the gun. "What did I just say about speaking?"

"Relax, Spook," said Sniper. "This might be my last chance fer an enjoyable conversation for a while."

"You are an idiot."

Sniper ignored him, glancing at the blond man again. "You've seen Bullitt, right?"

"Uh," he looked about ready to pass out. "Yeah."

Sniper pressed harder on the gas. "Bloody loved that car chase scene." he chuckled through the windscreen as Spy buried his face in his free hand and shook his head. Just thirty minutes later, they had lost the police car. "Tell ya what mate," Sniper was nodding appreciatively. "I like this car."

As they approached a massive, natural sandstone formation Spy leaned back. "Pull up here," Sniper braked, the Volkswagen gently rumbling to a stop. Spy got out and opened the passenger door. "Out."

The blond man complied, his hands up and his gaze down. "A-are you going to kill me?"

"You do not get to ask questions," Spy grabbed his arm. "Keep moving." He guided the man behind the large rocky outcrop and disappeared from view.

Sniper lit a cigarette and frowned. He knew they had no choice, but he still did not care for it. Although most laypeople failed to understand his moral code, Sniper never killed needlessly. People did not get bounties on their heads for no reason; the people he killed for money were rarely innocent. But Spy had already murdered a man who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time as Sniper sat, waiting for the gunshot to announce the second innocent life lost. He removed his cigarette and yawned, stretching his sore back.

He began to chew on his thumb nail. "Life's a bitch," He had learned to harden his heart to such scenarios.  _Survival of the fittest, mate_. Sniper leaned back, admiring the leather, cherry coloured interior of the car as he smoked. This really was a much nicer set of wheels than the last piece of crap, at least. He wondered what the blond man's occupation was to be able to afford a car like this.

As the minutes ticked by, Sniper became more edgy. He checked his mirrors obsessively, waiting to see police sirens approaching. Maybe Spy had slit the guy's throat rather than shooting him, and was trying to conceal the body. He tutted and shook his head. After another ten minutes, Sniper exhaled and got out of the car, peering over the roof, "Spy?" his voice echoed over the red landscape but he received no reply. "What's takin so bloody long?!" No reply.

His boots crunched on the ground as he made his way over to the tall, ragged formation, pulling his mustard jeans up a little. They were a bit slack on his bony waist. He grumbled and opened his mouth to curse at Spy as he rounded the corner, but stopped dead when he spotted him.

Spy had a knife pressed to his throat and the blond man was stood behind him. They were facing Sniper's direction, and Spy's revolver lay uselessly at his feet. The man grinned deviously in acknowledgment and tightened his grip. "Ah, good of you to finally join us," he said. The fear from the man's face was now gone as if it had never existed, and a familiar, French accent now tinted his words. "Have you missed me,  _mon ami_?"

Sniper stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "Spy…?"

"Which one?" asked the man, the corner of his mouth tugging up as if snagged by a fisherman's hook. Sniper could only stare. "Oh come now, do not look so surprised. You did not actually think I had died back at Dustbowl, did you?" the RED Spy chuckled. "Give me a little credit."

"So ya  _had_  been working for Gray Mann from the start," Sniper balled his fist as he shook, rage pumping blood around his body. "You're a two-faced coward."

The RED Spy hummed into his hostage's ear, pleased with having turned the tables so smoothly. "Been telling stories about me?" His right hand pressed the knife harder to his counterpart's throat while the other kept a firm grip of his wrist. "It is simple; RED offered me money to kill BLU's. Gray offered me even more money to kill both." He shrugged. "Why, it is almost what you would expect from a mercenary, isn't it?"

"You let your own team be slaughtered for a little extra cash?"

"Oh no, not at all," RED Spy gave him a haughty smile. "I let my own team be slaughtered for  _a lot_ of extra cash." He laughed. "I have standards."

Sniper could barely contain himself. "You, you-"

"Actually, no, now that I think about it," RED Spy interrupted, looking off to the side in thought. "Not my  _whole_  team. Two survived, as you probably know. One of whom was not supposed to." He stared at Sniper with intense, predatory eyes.

Sniper was breathing heavily from sheer anger. "The fuck have you done to Medic!?"

"Nothing," he feigned innocence. "But the old man does have some rather  _interesting_  plans for him." The RED Spy leaned his cheek onto his hostages, smiling with mock innocence as the BLU tried to move his head away.

Sniper stepped forward, flicking open his knife, "I'm gonna cut that smile right off of yer bloody face."

"Ah, ah, ah," the knife at the BLU's throat dug a little deeper, drawing blood. "Let's not do anything too hasty,  _Mr_   _Mundy_."

If having his name revealed in front of the BLU Spy bothered him, Sniper did not let it show. "Why not?" He took another step forward. "Cause you'll kill him?" Another step. " _G_ o ahead, why would I care?" He snorted, and both Spies scowled at him. He continued his slow stride forward. The RED Spy pricked the tip of his knife deeper, causing his captive to wince.

"Risky bluff, Bushman," The RED eyed him, his smile gone. "If I kill him, you will never locate our headquarters, ergo, you will never find Medic."

"You're not gonna kill him." Said Sniper. "I know you fancy, French wankers see me as some sort of doofus r'somethin," Both spies nodded in agreement with that. Another step. "But I'm quite good at watchin people. Not too shabby at readin 'em, either." Another step. The blade dug further in, causing the BLU Spy to gasp as blood trickled from the puncture. "And I can tell ya right now,  _mate_. Yer. Not. Gonna. Kill. 'im"

"Get  _back_." The RED hissed through his teeth.

"If you were, ya woulda done it while I was still in the car." Time stood still for a moment as they watched one another. Sniper lunged first, and the RED Spy slashed forward. The BLU Spy took the first opportunity and ducked, rolling toward his revolver. Sniper backed away as his former teammate advanced, his second slash catching Sniper deeply across the cheek, splitting his flesh from ear to nose. He grunted and stumbled back.

"Look on the bright side," the RED Spy's smile was cruel. "You can be reunited with the rest of them now." He went for Sniper's jugular, but something rang out across the dusty landscape. The bullet from the BLU Spy's revolver blew through his kneecap, and the RED Spy crumbled to the ground with a scream tearing from his lips. Sniper dabbed his fingers to his cheek and glared at the blood coating them before drawing his boot back, kicking his old colleague square in the face.

"Really Bushman," The BLU Spy looked at him. "At this rate you should be paying me to be your bodyguard."

"Shut it." He leaned down and hauled the RED into a sitting position. The groaning Spy spat a wad of blood in his face, but Sniper took no notice. He pressed his flick knife into the RED's cheek. He had never seen him without his mask, but his eyes were as cold and cunning as ever.

"Killing me for aiding Gray Mann," the RED Spy grimaced through red teeth. "When the man who just saved you is aiding him too."

The BLU stood over him, his eyes stony. "I would die before aiding that man again."

"I know that you believe that."

Sniper shook him before the BLU could grab for him. " _Where's_  Medic?"

When the RED Spy just grinned, Sniper pressed his flick knife into the tender flesh just beneath an eye. "Ya got three seconds to start talking before the last thing you ever see is me."

"It is not me you should be questioning," The REDs eyes flickered over Snipers shoulder to his BLU counterpart and he stopped grinning. "Aren't you just a little curious as to how Gray was able to track you to Gravel Pit?

"The fuck are you saying?"

The RED Spy looked at the BLU again, but this time he held his gaze. "And I'm sure you were wondering the same thing … even though you should already know."

"Enough of your tricks." Sniper pressed the knife in deep and prepared to gouge out an eye when his hostage grabbed his wrist.

"You are making a mistake-"

"Then enlighten me."

"First, tell me," The RED Spy addressed his counterpart again. "Does all that oxycodone you guzzle down do anything to stop the pain? Or is it more a force of habit now? I imagine the headaches must be overwhelming…"

Spy brought his gun up. "If you have a point," he said, his voice low. "Make it."

"I am sure you are already aware that everything that was done to you three years ago was all part of Gray Mann's plan," he stared him down. " _Everything_." Slowly, something moved behind the BLU Spy's eyes as if he was realising some terrible epiphany. He took a step forward and put his finger on the trigger.

"You won't want to let him do that," the RED Spy quickly addressed Sniper. "It will not bode well for you."

"Actually, for once I agree with him." Sniper shoved him and stepped back. "Blow his bloody brains out."

" _If_  you kill me," the RED Spy moaned and gripped his destroyed knee, "My watch will inform Gray Mann with what you have done, and he will kill your Medic."

Sniper narrowed his eyes. " _Bullshit_."

"Ask him," he nodded to the BLU again. "Our devices are wirelessly connected to monitors back at our headquarters that updates Gray with how many of his men are alive." Sniper shot a look to the BLU, who grit his teeth but nodded.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean he'll kill Medic just because we kill you," Sniper flexed his fingers. "Yer just another one of his pawns."

"Believe that if you wish," said the RED Spy, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "But your Medic  _will_  die … if you are willing to take that chance."

The BLU stepped up, placing the barrel between his eyes. "I do like to live on the edge," His finger tightened on the trigger, but when the revolver went off the bullet shot into the air. Sniper had seized his arm, aiming the gun at the sky. Spy sneered at him and tried to pull away but Sniper held fast. "What are you doing?"

"We can't kill him."

Spy gawked at him. "All that whisky has turned your brain to mush," he tried to yank his arm away again, failed again. "He is lying!"

"I  _can't_  risk it," Sniper frowned at him. "I won't gamble with Medics life."

Spy gave him a look of bitter disappointment. "You won't have to." He successfully yanked himself free and aimed at the RED Spy, set to blast his jaw apart.

" _No_ ," Sniper stood between them, looking ready to take a bullet to the stomach for the man who betrayed him. "We can't kill him, Spy!"

"You are being a ridiculous!"

"He stays  _alive_." They stared one another down and the RED Spy sniggered behind them. "I mean it Spy. The only reason I'm even trying to trust you is because of our deal. I help you, you help me. If Medic dies because you kill this wanker, then I'll stuff every single one of those bloody pills down your throat 'til ya choke on them."

The evil glint that passed behind the BLU Spy's eyes had Sniper fearing that he may actually send a bullet into his gut. "You are weak," The BLU hissed, but he slowly lowered the gun. "As always, your emotions overcloud your rational judgement. You are  _allowing_  this man to manipulate you."

"And you were just as bad as him once," Sniper snapped, pointing his flick knife in his face. "The only reason you even started gunning for BLU in the first place was because Gray Mann caught you snooping." He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "That could just as easily be you on the ground Spy, and don't you ferget it."

"Are you sure the two of you are allies in all of this?" The RED Spy enquired, still holding his leg. "It certainly sounds like-" Sniper turned and thumped him clean out with one ferocious right hook. He spat at him, then turned his eyes back to the BLU.

"Now, what the hell did he mean when he said that everything that Gray did to you was part of some big plan?" Sniper's face was red with rage and walked right up to Spy's face. "The fuck was he saying when he asked if we knew how Gray Mann tracked us to Gravel Pit!?"

Spy's eyes suddenly unfocused and the corners of his lips slightly drew down. He appeared deep in thought, and about ready to collapse to his knees. "Gray Mann wants me alive." He sounded surprised.

Sniper ran a hand down his face. His head hurt. His hand hurt. " _Why_  does Gray Mann want you alive?"

The masked man was quiet for a long time, and when he spoke up he addressed nobody in particular, his voice distant. "To check my progress."

"Right," Sniper pointed in his face. "Yer gonna stop talking in cryptic code and you're gonna be straight with me, because right now what little trust I've built up for you over the last day is putting its own neck in a noose." He poked his chest. "Gray Mann. His big plan. How he tracked us to Gravel Pit. Start talking."

Spy slapped his hand away. "I will tell you what I think, but as I keep telling you – I don't know anything for certain. I was not lying when I told you that I did not know what Gray was planning for your Medic."

"But…?"

"But," said Spy, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "I think I have a better idea now. When Gray ended my contract, he did not let me go. He held me for weeks and he … experimented."

"What do you mean?"

"He experimented on my brain. On my mind." Spy exhaled loudly. "And I was naïve enough to think this whole time that I got out on my own … he  _let_  me escape. I have been his lab rat this whole time." His left hand was tremoring uncontrollably at his side but he did not attempt to hide it. "He wants me alive so that he can compare my brain to his latest projects."

Sniper paled. "You don't mean Medic?"

"I do not know," he broke eye contact. "As for how you were tracked to Gravel Pit – you weren't.  _I_  was. During my captivity, Gray Mann put an implant into me. I don't know where it is, or I would have tried to cut it out."

"Jesus Christ," Sniper rubbed his mouth with a calloused hand, brows furrowed. "You've got a fucking tracking device inside of you!?"

"That must be how they found us at Gravel Pit, and how your Spy tracked us here." He kept his eyes staring out over the distance. "That is why he did not kill me when you were still in the car."

Sniper took the information in. He allowed it to marinate in his mind, rolling it around like a record on repeat. "Shit." Was all he could think to say. Spy leaned over his unconscious counterpart and rifled through his jacket pockets. He slipped what looked like a key-card into his own pocket and turned abruptly. "I need to leave the country." he began striding for the car.

"Wait, what?" Sniper jogged up to walk with him. "The  _country_?"

"There is nowhere safe here, not with this  _thing_  inside of me." For the first time since their reluctant partnership had begun, Sniper saw something in Spy's eyes. He saw fear. "I will not go through what he did to me again."

Sniper grabbed his elbow. "Whoa - he still has my Medic, you need to help me-"

"I will." Spy snatched his arm away and kept walking. "I have your Spy's collected data," he patted his pocket. "But we need to leave first. We have nothing here, and with this tracking device they will sabotage our every attempt to arm ourselves. We need somewhere safe - they may want me alive, but you are to be killed on sight. And now that we have the law onto us as well, we cannot stay here. Prison bars will not save you from Gray Mann."

"Fuck," Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where the hell can we go?"

Spy nibbled on his lip. "You must have friends back in Australia?"

"Jesus," Sniper pulled a face. He must be desperate. "That's more than a day's flight away."

"We do not  _have_  anywhere else."

"Well, what about  _your_  people back in France?" he gestured widely for emphasis. "That's less than half a day's flight."

Spy paused. "No," He shook his head. "I cannot go back there."

"Well, I can't go back to Australia!"

They reached the car and, when Spy grabbed the driver side handle, he went completely rigid. He stood still for a long time, lost in thought. Sniper shifted uneasily, expecting police cars to appear surrounding them out of nowhere. "Fine." Spy opened the door and got in.

"Fine?" Sniper mimicked him, taking the passenger's seat.

"I have … someone in Paris." He started the engine. "They may not take too kindly to hearing from me."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Spy went silent as he turned the key in the ignition. When he pulled out onto the road, Sniper scrutinised him. "Who is it?" he received no reply. "Damn it, Spy! I'm talkin to you!"

The loud wail of a siren spoke before Spy did.

"Bugger," Sniper curled his arm around the back of Spy's headrest to peer out through the back window. At such a distance, he could not see how many cars there were, but the words 'too many' came to mind. "What the bloody hell are we gonna do!?"

Abruptly, Spy steered the car onto the roadside and slammed his foot on the break. Sniper lurched forward, his good hand stopping is face from bashing into the windshield. He flashed Spy an angry look. "What the fuck is your-"

"This is your Spy's car." Spy said, as if that explained everything.

"Ya  _think_!?"

The sirens roared like a pride of lions. They were speeding so fast that Sniper could now successfully count no less than six police cars.

Spy pressed something behind the wheel and a little panel popped up and opened at the centre of the horn. The wailing continued to blare as Sniper shouted for Spy to start the car and keep driving, but Spy ignored him. He began to hit buttons on the little pad, causing little  _bleep's_  to gently shake the car. He then took out the key card and waved it over the panel, causing a green light to blink on the dashboard.

"Spy, ya…!" Sniper made to grab the wheel but Spy caught his wrist with one hand and clamped the other over his mouth, pressing him back against the car seat.

"Do not  _move_." He demanded in a hushed tone. The sirens were now flashing on his face, turning his complexion red then blue, making his eyes glow.

The police cars were fast approaching and Sniper squeezed his eyes shut. He waited. The sound of the siren's gradually fading away indicated that the cars had sped right by them.

They remained still, Spy's gloved hand lingering on Sniper's mouth until all six cars were out of sight. When he pulled away, he had blood from Sniper's slashed cheek on him. "You got blood on my-"

Sniper balled his fist in the fabric of Spy's turtleneck and yanked him close. "The hell are you playin at!?"

Spy glowered and pried Sniper's fingers from him. "Mann Co. vehicles are fitted with the same technology that their Spies devices are," he said. "The police could not see the car because it was cloaked."

"And it was too bloody difficult for you to just tell me that?"

Spy pressured his lips tightly together. "I am telling you now." Sniper opened his mouth and raised his finger to point in the Frenchman's face, but then threw his hands in the air and exhaled in frustration. Spy put the car in gear and shrugged. "It is not my fault that you don't know anything."

"Just.  _Drive_."

Spy did. He turned the car around and sped off down the uneven road, leaving the unconscious RED Spy in the dust. They drove for hours in silence. Sniper had so many questions, but Spy's whole demeanour had changed. The masked man seemed lost in another realm of reality, and occasionally he would frown deeply to himself. After what the RED Spy had said, Sniper feared for Medic more than ever. He did not want to ask Spy what horrors he had endured in Gray's clutches - but he was starting to gain a better understanding of why he refused to remove the balaclava. He shivered.

When Spy spotted a lone telephone booth he pulled the car over without a word and undid his seatbelt. Sniper noticed he was staring at the booth as if it were aiming a gun at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Who're you calling?"

"Someone." Was all Spy offered before he got out. In the booth, he pushed some coins into the tray and dialled, his shaking hand barely able to hold the receiver. It rang a few times. Then another few. A bead of sweat ran down his back and he shivered.

"Bonjour?" said a woman's voice. Spy took a deep breath and licked his lips. He would have prayed to God for his voice not to croak if he had been a man of faith. The woman repeated herself.

Spy felt sick. "Héléne," he said. "It's me."

..

Sniper watched his body language from the car. He had never seen the BLU hold himself the way he was in the phone booth. His shoulders and head were bowed and he fidgeted. He looked uncomfortable. Whether that was entirely due to whoever he was addressing or because he was aware that Sniper was observing, he did not know. After just a few minutes Spy was getting back into the car again. He started the engine without so much as a side glance.

Sniper wanted to ask, but it was so alien to see Spy as he was now and he could not convince himself to ask right away. Spy did not speak as he drove for the first ten minutes, but the blood had drained from his face. His hands shook as they gripped the wheel.

"Didn't go as expected?" Sniper asked eventually.

Spy shook his head. "It went precisely as expected." He kept his eyes ahead. "A helicopter will be picking us up first thing in the morning."

Sniper turned his head very carefully in Spy's direction. "A helicopter."

"Yes."

"You have a helicopter."

"Yes."

Sniper did not have a reply. He rubbed his face and stared out of the side window, hating himself for not grabbing his whisky from the motel.

After several hours of driving, fortunately with no further encounters with the local police, Spy pulled the car onto a patch of yellow grass and turned the engine off. His pill bottle rattled loudly in his trembling hands as he emptied some into his palm and popped them into his mouth. What had the RED Spy called them, Sniper wondered? Oxycodone. He had no idea what that was.

He looked around, frowning. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. "How does the helicopter pilot know where to find us?"

"I sent him our coordinates," Spy rubbed his temples. "Another convenience of possessing a Mann Co. vehicle."

"You know what," Sniper stretched, his spine popping loudly. "Nothing's ever gonna surprise me again, after this."

..

The pair were drowsing before night had completely claimed the sky. Snipers back was giving him hell, but he had been so tired that he slumped forward and slept regardless. Spy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, periodically twitching back into consciousness. Every sound around the car caught his attention, startling him whenever he began to dose off. When Sniper began to mumble, Spy flickered an eye open.

The man's height was not making his position look any less uncomfortable. He was slumped over the dashboard, face in his arms, knees nearly pressing into his chest. He was wriggling and muttering, snuffling like a napping dog. Spy leaned forward to try and make out what he was saying.

When Spy placed his hand on the dashboard, Sniper gently clutched his arm. "Ricky…" he whispered. His face turned toward Spy, but his eyes remained closed. His features soft for once.

Spy studied him. The man stirred slightly but then relaxed again, his grip sliding off of Spy's arm. After a few minutes his muttering died away, and the only discernible sounds were the crickets outside. Spy relaxed back into his seat, grimacing at the headache he felt coming on. He was not going to get any more sleep tonight.

He feared, for the first time, that he would not have his chance to watch Gray Mann die.


	6. Chapter 6

Sniper stirred with the dreamy half-light of dawn, the moon still floating in the west. He had the familiar nausea that often accompanied mornings following his sober nights. Spy was outside, sitting on the hood of the car and watching the sunrise. He retrieved a bottle of water from Spy's pack and took a few sips. After some time, Spy got off the hood and squinted up at the sky, the tell-tale sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air echoing over the land. Sniper stiffly got out, placing his sunglasses on his nose, and looked up. "That your man?"

"It would seem so," Spy walked around the car and opened it, grabbing his pack and some other things from the glove box. "Anything you want, I suggest you take it now." He sounded exhausted, his customary snarky tone all but gone.

The aircraft was a single engine with a three bladed rotor, and it lowered itself smoothly, blowing strong gusts down to whip their clothes wildly. Sniper had never been in a helicopter before, had never been so near one until now, and he found himself surprised at its size. Spy gestured for him to follow and they approached the aircraft as it settled, sending dust twirling up like miniature cyclones.

The pilot was an old Spanish man with dark eyes who turned to address Spy from the cockpit. They spoke to one another in Spanish, barely having to shout over the volume of the spinning blades until Spy sat back and buckled himself in. The large sliding doors on either side of the cabin were glass, so Sniper could look out without craning his neck. Spy looked out his side. "I hope you are not afraid of heights, Bushman." They were in the air quickly, the speed much faster than Sniper was expecting. Wind batted against his face through the open window as he look down, holding his hat in place. The Volkswagen beetle got smaller and smaller until it was entirely out of view, the suns golden sunrays now shining out over the landscape. When Sniper turned to comment on the view, Spy was leaning back in his seat, already sound asleep.

..

"I lost them." The RED Spy panted into the device, his blood encrusted lips sticking to one another with every word. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he had lost a lot of blood. His knee was ruined, the pain barely tolerable. He had never been kneecapped before, though he had come close, and the pain was the worst he had ever experienced. His joint, the bones surrounding it, the cartilage, the muscle, the nerves – it was all burning as if his leg was being dipped in molten lava.

"I'm disappointed Spy," Gray kept his voice monotone. "Unlose them."

" _Sir_ ," he groaned loudly as he tried to lift his leg, tears stinging his eyes. "I require  _assistance_."

Gray drummed his fingers lazily on his armrest. "Give me one reason why I should invest any more time in you. Your formerly impeccable record has plummeted as of late, and you are starting to thin away my patience."

"The BLU knows you want him alive," Spy hissed. "He will be fleeing somewhere far, possibly out of the country. Your equipment cannot detect him outside of your reach."

"But you can, hmm?"

"Yes."

Gray Mann sighed, delaying his reply. "I will send a bot to collect you," he stood. "Try not to bleed out before then." He tapped a button to disconnect the line.  _Why was everyone other than him completely useless?_  He walked to the far end of the chamber to check another monitor. The RED Medic was awake now, the effects of the oxycodone Gray had been pumping into his system showing nicely. He would be broken soon.

"Why this method?" A woman's voice whispered from behind Gray. "It's one of the lengthiest forms of … persuasion."

Gray did not turn to her. "Indeed, but it's also the most effective." He leaned close, drinking in Medic's curled up form. "Addiction guarantees long term cooperation and I need him to work for me because he wants something, not because he has to."

"The last one was driven to suicide…" the woman stepped forward, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Yes," said Gray. "In fact, the last six were. Tell me, Miss Pauling, do you think your Medic will kill himself when the addiction has fully gripped him?"

Miss Pauling looked at the screen, her sea-green eyes unreadable. "No," her voice was soft but not unsure. Gray regarded her but she kept her eyes forward. "He's strong."

Inside his tiny cell, Medic sat with his back pressed into the wall. The room was spherical, deliberately denying those contained the security of squeezing into a corner, robbing them of even the faintest comfort. He felt exposed under the lens of the camera watching him, a rat in a cage.

His only company in the room was the lank mattress sprawled in the centre, which smelled like it had never been cleaned. He was given no other stimulation, no heat, no explanation. He had seen nobody since Spy had had him drugged.  _His comrade, Spy_. Medic ground his teeth. He had always defended the man back when the team had first formed. Everybody felt uneasy with their masked colleague and his prying – his constant questions and regular invasions of their privacy. Medic had admired the man's ability to do his job without hesitation or regret. He had scolded Scout and Sniper for giving him a hard time, had berated Soldier about his remarks more than a handful of times. Had respected him. Medic cursed himself aloud in German, rubbing his arms frantically to try to warm himself.

He had no idea how long he had been here, no idea what time of the day it was.  _Was it even day time?_  There were no windows, and the same dull, humming light overhead had remained on since he had regained consciousness. His bare feet were numb with the cold. His eyes ached due to having been bereft of his spectacles, shifting the empty room into blurriness. His stomach had been cramping up for what felt like hours. Medic knew the signs.  _What had they been drugging him with?_

The hours came and went.

Frustration turned to anger in his chest as he got to his feet, his joints stiff and throbbing. He screamed and kicked the mattress, sending it sliding along the floor. "Mein Gott!" he fell hard, clutching his foot, feeling as if the bones had just shattered.  _He had to get out of here._  His eyes stung, every muscle going tense as he rolled onto his side and curled up. He had not cried since his youth, but he felt the familiarised sting nip his eyes and nose. As he pressed his cheek to the ground, he felt something; dents in the concrete. He sat up and ran his finger along the groove, feeling several engravings. They were faint and worn, but Medic squinted at them, his nose nearly touching them.

"Larry," one read. "José … Eugene … Henrik …" he felt something stuck in an indent, pulled it free. "Jacques…" he held it up, it felt like a small, sharp stone. After rolling it around in his palm, Medic realised that it was a human tooth. Surrounding him, scraped into the floor, were at least another two dozen names. As he ran his fingertips over them, the door opened and two men dressed in grey, possibly the same men from before, barrelled in. He was not strong enough in his weakened state to fight them, too dazed, too relieved to see  _someone_. They descended upon him, pinned him to the ground without comment and yanked his sleeve up. When the needle bit into him, Medic began to struggle, knowing it was in vain.

"Vhat are you injecting into me?" He grabbed one man by the front of his shirt. " _Vhat_  are you-" he was punched in the gut, hard enough to force bile into his throat. The whole of his vision blurred and brightened, and Medic felt like he was dying. Maybe he was dying. Or maybe he should.

..

By the time the helicopter glided over Paris, he had been airborne for far longer than comfortable. Sniper had dozed off eventually, awaking with a start alongside Spy, whose shoulder he had adopted as a pillow during the flight. The pilot called back "Bienvenido a casa!" as they approached the city and Sniper grumbled, patting himself for his hat and glasses that slipped off during his nap. He rubbed his eyes as he gazed out.

"Crikey," It was a stunning sight to see, completely different from what he knew from the outback. From where he sat, he could see the arc de triomphe as they flew over central Paris, the roads all straight and planned to perfection. "Napoleon knew how ta build a city, can't argue with that." Spy gave him a look.

The helicopter landed on an isolated, green field and the pair stumbled out, groggily gesticulating thanks to the pilot.

Even from where they stood, Sniper could see the manor. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and it was enormous. There was a concrete barrier set up sixty feet before the building itself and spanning the single road leading to it. Sniper stared, open-mouthed "who lives here, the bleedin president!?" It was the biggest house he had ever seen; a four-story chateau, with two projecting wings connecting to the white entrance tower. The entrance windows were framed with white, decorated columns and flowing tracery and gargoyles lining its architecture. An arbour was attached to the south side, alongside what looked to be stables. While he had taken out many politically-inclined targets in five-star luxury hotels, none were on par with the grandeur before him. Spy simply continued onwards, his pack hanging off his shoulder.

It took several minutes but they eventually came to the white steps leading to the main doors. A woman appeared at the top, looking down at them quietly. When she saw Spy's face her eyes went wide, an inaudible gasp escaping her lips as she stared at his mask. When they reached the top of the stairs and stopped, Sniper felt like they were having a standoff.

Spy looked hesitant to approach her. "Héléne…" He addressed her in French. Sniper had no idea what they were discussing, but Spy's voice was soft – he did not sound like himself. The woman's gaze went frosty as Sniper watched her curiously. The first thing he noticed was that she was startlingly beautiful. She was not young, perhaps approaching forty, but her pointed features and sharp cheekbones made her face more impressive than the roundness of youth could. She was clad in a knee length black dress that had pearls embroidered around the neck. Feeling his gaze, she turned her attention to him. Her eyes were pale blue and cold, like Spy's, and they gave her the same arrogant appearance. Though her gaze was not hostile, it was not welcoming either. The stark resemblance had Sniper doubting that this woman was Spy's wife.

She addressed him in French, her long, unruly hair falling about her in black streams. Sniper found himself genuinely intimidated by her regal confidence as she studied his face intensely, refusing to blink.

"He does not speak French." Spy informed her.

Her jaw muscles went taut as she extended a hand. "How do you do?" Sniper accepted her hand, giving it a gentle shake, surprised at how cold she was.

He gave her an awkward, lop-sided smile. "S'nice to make yer acquaintance, Mrs…?"

"Miss," she corrected. Her eyes flickered between Spy and Sniper. "Tell me, how do you know Jacques?" Spy loudly cleared his throat, said something in French, no doubt notifying Helene that Sniper had not known his real name. She bristled and gave him a disapproving look before turning back, lifting her head. "Excuse me. How do you know my brother?"

"We worked for the same people, sort of." He struggled to maintain eye contact with her. "They call me Sniper."

She scrutinised him, looking very much like Spy. "Sniper?"

He chuckled. "Just a workplace nickname…" He looked at Spy, hesitating before he spoke again. "Or just Mundy's fine." It was no secret anymore anyway, thanks to the RED Spy. Helene turned to her brother and began to demand something in French. They seemed to be having some kind of discrepancy as Sniper stood, pretending he found the rose vines framing the white-marble doorframe utterly fascinating. Eventually Helene seemed to relent, the rigid muscles of her face making her beauty even more striking as she pressed her lips together. She gave her brother the same scathing look that Spy had given Sniper so often before turning, heels clacking as she entered the manor.

Sniper glanced at Spy. "So," he rubbed his neck. "Yer sister seems nice." Spy ignored him and went inside, popping a handful of pills into his mouth as he went.

..

The RED Spy was picked up by one of Gray's Soldierbots after nearly two hours. They gave him the creeps, the machines, and as it scooped him up bridal style he screamed in pain as his knee bent. He was placed in the back of a black van with darkened windows. "They have my fucking car." He moaned to himself. After he had tipped the police off to their staying in the motel, he knew that he would be targeted if he parked by the road. His old rival was predictable that way. He had not predicated that he would team up with the former red Sniper though. Spy snorted at the memory of his old teammate. He hated the Sniper. Hated him. It was not a word he used lightly, but it applied to that smelly, filthy sonofabitch. Gray could have the BLU Spy for his fucked up experiments all he wanted, but now the RED Spy made a promise to himself. _I will find Sniper again, I will have him locked up at headquarters, and I will make him mine._  All of the agony his leg was subjecting him to, Spy redirected towards Sniper. He was going to make that man suffer.

The little screen near the roof of the van went static before focusing onto an image of Gray. "Ah Spy, you're still alive."

"Try not to sound too disappointed."

Gray grinned. "I have decided to begin Project Nihil upon your return."

"Really?" Spy hissed as he shifted his leg. "I thought you wanted to prepare Medic for a few weeks before-"

"Yes, yes," Gray waved him off. "Progress has been made. We will begin tomorrow. You and Pauling will be given a very important job."

"I'll be thrilled to hear it."

"You will be." Gray's smile faded and he leaned forward. "Because you do not want to find out what I will do to you if you fail me again." At that, the screen went blank. Spy lay back in the van and squeezed his eyes shut. He was in far too much pain to worry right now.

..

The opulence and spaciousness of the lobby removed any feeling of homeliness, Sniper thought. The floor of the chateau was a polished silver marble, so shiny that it reflected like a mirror. Wall hangings of velvet and brocade decorated the room and they blew in the gentle breeze from the open windows.

Sniper walked up to a portrait of Helene. "Baroness Helene Brochand." he read the gold plated placard aloud, not bothering to attempt the French pronunciation.

"Yes," said Helene. "I took over the family estate after my brother thought it appropriate to lie to me and pretend to be dead." Her face was colder than ice, her voice colder still. Spy tensed, said something in French. "Do  _not_  tell me 'now is not the time'," she snapped at him. "You show up 'ere after four years with a 'colleague' called  _Sniper_  who does not even know your name? Do  _not_  tell me to calm down, Jacques. You 'ave no idea what it 'as been like for me." Her accent thickened in her anger as she sliced a pale arm through the air. Without warning, her blue eyes filled with tears. She blushed brilliantly and straightened, smoothing down the velvet of her dress before excusing herself. Both men watched her go.

An awkward silence filled the lobby and Sniper could see how badly Spy wanted to be anywhere else. "So, you're a bloody  _Baron_?"

"Yes."

"So while you were robbin people at gunpoint in the middle of the Badlands, you had a mansion and a vast bloody fortune back here?"

"Yes."

"And you never thought to bring this up at any point?"

"No." Sniper glared at him. Spy rolled his eyes. "I am assumed to be dead here in France, Bushman.  _I_  have no money, I left it all to my sister in my will." He sighed deeply and pulled out a cigarette. "I was quite convinced that she would not help me after I lied to her."

"Understandable." Sniper nodded.

"Indeed," he lit up, blowing smoke. "Is this enough for you?"

"What?"

Spy stared at him long and hard. "You said yesterday that you had only built up a little trust for me," he cocked his head. "Everything that you have learned about Gray Mann and my previous association with him has kept you very much on guard. I have brought you to my home – to the home of my sister. Have I earned more of your trust yet?"

Sniper thought for a long time. "Yeah," he said eventually. "Yeah I guess so."

Spy smiled. "Good." He began to walk up the grand staircase. "Now, I will find you a room, I need to spend some time alone with Helene to explain the situation to her, you understand."

"Yeah"

"You can wash, change, sleep, whatever. But do not wander, not tonight at least."

"Think I'll get lost?"

"I know you will." They walked along the red carpeted hallway and stopped outside a four panel oak door. "You can use this room. Once I have spoken to my sister, I will shout you down and we can discuss what we are going to do about Gray."

"I'm assumin you have some idea about how we're going to find him?"

"Oh yes," Spy grinned. "Thanks to your RED Spy, I have a very good idea." When Sniper made to speak, Spy put out a hand to silence him. "But after I speak to Héléne." Sniper wanted to argue. Wanted to outline the plan to rescue Medic right now, to feel that he was not just sitting about with his thumb up his ass. But he relented.

He sighed deeply. "Right." Spy nodded and turned, handing back towards the stairs.

..

Miss Pauling stood over Medic's unconscious form. His face was tight with pain, his skin gleaming with sweat. She watched him for a long time, her knuckles white at her sides. "Medic…?" she lifted a hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek. "Can you-"

"Is he awake?" Pauling snatched her hand away and turned. Gray was standing in the door, his shadow stretching over the floor to her feet like a demon crawling up from hell.

"No," she breathed shakily. "Not yet."

Gray nodded. "Spy is on his way back, he will arrive in a few hours."

"Good."

"It is good," he purred as he began to walk forward. "Things are going to start tomorrow. You are going to be in charge of overseeing Medics work. Can I count on you for such an important task?"

Pauling kept her face blank and her back straight. "Of course."

"Good, good," Gray turned to leave. "Because if Medic fails, I will kill you both." He paused to look over his shoulder, smiling when Pauling offered no retort. There was something especially off-putting about the skeletal little man called Gray. He was physically weak, constantly skirting around a long overdue death, but it was the look in his eyes. Gray Mann's eyes had no life – no soul. His machines seemed more capable of empathy than he did. After he left, Pauling turned back to Medic and lay a hand on his chest, raising slowly with each breath.

She lay her head down, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm so sorry…"

..

The guest room Sniper had been situated in was open and airy, decked out with furniture made from elegant fabrics – much like everything else he had seen so far.  _How could anyone relax in a place like this?_  Sniper already felt guilty for walking on the fancy carpet with his boots on. He did eventually get bored, and took to exploring the manor after a few hours. Although expensively decorated, the house was cold; its embellishments were evidently for show rather than sentimental value. There were no family photos on the walls, save the sole family portrait in the lobby – which was one of those old fashioned oil paintings were nobody in the picture smiled.

After an hour of wandering, Spy tracked him down and gave him an earful before sending him down to the dining room. Sniper headed down by himself as Spy moseyed off to wash and change, no doubt exhausted after his daunting conversation with Helene.

The dining hall was exactly how he had imagined it; enchanting and emotionless. He scanned the various paintings for a while before taking a seat, fiddling with one of the fancy antique knifes.  _Why the hell did one person need three knives and three forks?_

"Good evening," Helene appeared in the doorway, causing Sniper to jump and drop the knife. Another family trait. She wore a lengthy dress, the ruby red contrasting her cold eyes. The satin seemed to both cling to and float around her as she walked over to the table, her untamed hair flowing about as she poured herself a glass of wine. "Would you like a drink, Monsieur Mundy?"

"No need to trouble yourself, I can-"

"Please," she poured him a glass before he could protest. "Sit." She waved toward the chair he had gotten up from and smiled. He sat without a word. She glided over to the seat next to him and handed him his glass.

"Thank you." He took a large gulp and tried to surpass a grimace.

Helene cocked her head to the side as she took her seat. "Do you like wine?"

"Oh yeah," he wiped his upper lip, imagining a wine-coloured moustache. "I'll drink anything that will give a buzz, really." He chuckled. Helene smiled, her white teeth contrasting the red of her lips. Like her brother she rarely blinked, which Sniper found incredibly unnerving. He shifted in his chair.

"Thank you for helping my brother," She gently placed a cold hand on his. Instinctively, Sniper pulled his hand back as if she had dug her nails in. Intrigued, she regarded him "You do not like being touched." It was an observation, not a question.

Sniper shifted again. "Normally when somthin touches me these days it's a knife or a bullet."

"You perceive every action directed towards you as an attack?" she kept her eyes transfixed on his face as she delicately sipped her wine.

"Not every action," he shrugged. "I just happen to be in a job that sees a lot of attack, is all."

"But you are not on a battlefield, Monsieur Mundy," she ran her pale fingertips down his forearm and rested her hand upon his again, only this time he forced himself not to pull away. "You are in my home." Every muscle in Sniper's body tightened and he kept his eyes glued to the hand on his, observing much the same way a python might watch a rodent. Helene watched his face just as intently, a smile ghosting her lips.

Spy idly entered the hall. He had removed the mask and, in its place, wrapped clean bandages around his entire head. His forehead, chin and neck remained completely covered, but his nose and some of either cheek were now visible. "I hope you are not playing with our guest." He took his seat across from them.

Helene smiled and let her hand linger on Sniper's a little longer before removing it to curl around her wine glass. "Just getting to know one another better."

"Yes," Spy regarded Sniper's rigid posture. "He looked just as uncomfortable when we were forced to get to know one another better."

"We are uncomfortable with things that we do not understand," said Helene, sipping her wine. "But I prefer to have some understanding of the people whom I welcome into my home." Dinner was eventually served and the conversation remained awkwardly pleasant for most of it. Formalities and small talk, the underlying hostility buried. Helene excused herself after eating, brushing passed Sniper as she went. Sniper was already on his third glass of wine.

"I never imagined you would like wine," Spy mused as he swivelled his own drink. "Then again, I suppose you'll drink anything."

Sniper tipped his glass in mock cheers. "Tell ya what mate, I never  _ever_  woulda thought for a second that I'd be dinning in your house." He shook his head. "This is fucking crazy."

Spy nodded. "I never thought I would return here."

"Helene seems to be taking it well," he shrugged. "All things considered. Ya woulda come back eventually, I think."

"I suppose a man cannot stay away from home forever."

Sniper snorted. "Speak for yourself, Spook."

Spy sniffed and rested his chin on the heel of his palm. "Do tell, what is it that keeps you away from the magical land of Australia?"

Sniper shrugged "Just bad memories, I suppose."

"Bad memories are everywhere," said Spy. "Especially home." He hummed, watching Sniper closely. Even though most of his face was still covered, it was very peculiar to see him unmasked.

Sniper ignored him. He began to stare at the painting of the creepy cherubs on the wall behind him. Spy kept staring. "What?" Sniper snapped. "What is it?"

"Who is 'Ricky'?" he asked. Sniper looked surprised but then scowled, looking confused. He knew that he would never have brought Ricky up with Spy, no matter how hammered he had been at the motel. Spy cocked his head again. "You mentioned him in your sleep last night, in the car."

"Nobody," Sniper grumbled. "Was just a dream."

"I did not look like just a dream." Spy kept staring, expectant. Sniper knew what he was doing. He was trying to even the field; he had brought Sniper in to his home and had allowed him near a loved one – near enough to harm them. He was trying to cement some form of trust between them so they could honestly work together to achieve their goals. And now he wanted Sniper to show him he trusted him too.

He sighed deeply. "He was my friend."

"Was?"

"He's gone," Said Sniper. "Disappeared when we were still kids."

Spy frowned. "He disappeared?"

Sniper looked down at his hands as he flexed his fingers. "I know who did it. Tried to find the bastard years later but…" he sighed and shrugged. "I couldn't."

Spy watched him carefully. "He was kidnapped?"

"By our Scoutmaster," he nodded, an expression of disgust washing over his features. "Ricky had always been different around him. Quieter, y'know? I can't believe none of the adults ever noticed and tried to help him." He paused, his eyes darkening. "Can't believe I didn't." His eyes drifted back to the painting again, but stayed vacant. "I can't go back home - not after I found out that the sorry prick had died in prison, before his bloody sentencing." He shook his head. His voice dipped to a low growl that Spy had rarely heard him use before. "Got away with the lot, the bastard."

Spy nodded, stretched back over his chair. "Is that why you became a mercenary?"

"Nah," Sniper scratched his stubble, his face already softer, his tone lighter. "Nothing so noble - If 'noble' can be used for our type of work." He chuckled. "I just like shootin things."

"The mercenaries' mantra?" Spy offered, grinning into his glass.

"Jacques," Helene appeared in the doorway. "I found the key to papa's armoury."

Leisurely, Spy got to his feet. "Still looking for a rifle, Bushman?"

Sniper downed the rest of his wine and stood as well. "Now we're talkin."


	7. Chapter 7

The armoury was small but packed to capacity, lit only by gas lamps. The former Master Brochand must have been a war veteran because the walls were wreathed with old medals, helmets and trophy photographs. “Our father served as a lieutenant colonel in France's 2nd Armoured Division during the war,” Helene said as she unfastened a large chest and pulled out a small metal box. “He took part in the liberation of Paris.” she took a small vial of clear liquid from the box and held it up.

Sniper cocked his head. “What’s that?”

Helene brought out a packet, tearing it opening to reveal the syringe inside. She attached a thick needle to it and drew up several millilitres of the fluid, her movements graceful, like a practiced nurse. After a few flicks, she replaced the thick needle with a finer one and smiled at Sniper. “Undo your trousers.”

“Um,” he looked around at Spy, who was busying himself with a nearby safe. “What?”

“This is an intramuscular injection,” she held up the needle. “It needs to go deep into the muscle to allow the medication to be absorbed quickly into the bloodstream.”

“Yeah, I get that bit,” Sniper backed up a little as Helene advanced on him. “Why am I getting medication, exactly?”

Helene smiled sweetly at him, the way a teacher may regard a slow child. “This was secretly developed to assist injured soldiers – to encourage them to fight even with broken bones. Once this enters your bloodstream, your wrist will be healed in a matter of hours.”

Sniper scratched his neck. “Oh.”

“Oh,” she imitated, continuing forward. “Now drop your trousers Monsieur, this has to be administered into your thigh.” Sniper pulled a face and glanced back at Spy again, who was now elbow deep in the safe and rummaging through ammunition cases. Awkwardly, Sniper began to fumble with his belt as Helene smirked at him, her blue eyes twinkling deviously.

Spy continued to dig through the safe before focusing on something at the back, his thin lips pulling up at one side. “Found you,” he pulled the large metallic case out, dragging it across the surface of the safe with effort and dropping in onto a nearby table. “It has been many years since I saw this.”

Sniper appeared at his side, grimacing and sheepishly rubbing his thigh. Helene remained back and brought out a cigarette, tossing the used needle into a nearby can and smiling like the fox who caught the rabbit.

Spy opened the case and pushed it toward Sniper to get a better look. Within the ebony steel was a precision rifle, equipped with a scope and free-floating barrel. Sniper admired it with his eyes before picking it up, noting its muzzle stabiliser; fit to dampen barrel vibrations. It had a similar bolt design to his old rifle and he weighed it in his hands, smiling. “The FR F1,” said Spy. “She was manufactured by MAS GIAT Industries, based in Roanne. One of our father’s favourite rifles.”

Sniper swallowed, eyes cemented onto the weapon. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Spy grabbed something else from the case. “She is accompanied by a bipod, if you’re interested?”

“Nah,” Sniper stroked the scope gently as if petting a small dog. “Nah, we’re good.” He scooped up a box of bullets, read the side.

Spy left him to open another, smaller chest. He retrieved the revolver within, a double-action chambered in .38 special cartridges. It looked smaller than his other revolver; the barrel no longer than six inches, but its alloyed steel shone like diamonds in his blues eyes. They both stared lovingly at the guns in their hands; proud fathers in the delivery room.

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Helene drew on her cigarette holder and blew a plume of smoke. “You are ogling those things as if about to proposition them.”

“There is only one woman I would proposition,” Spy pulled out another large-barrelled revolver that had a deep blue grip. The barrel had an engraving of a sultry, sprawled woman cut into it. “Ah, but I have been neglecting her.” He stared down at the ambassador, admiring her shine.

Helene rolled her eyes. “I am never going to have a niece or nephew.” She turned to leave them to their toys, mint and smoke trailing after her as she left.

Sniper took a compact machine pistol from another case and studied it. It was chambered in 9mm and possessed a silencer. “Is it just the rifle that’s up for grabs?” he glanced over. “Because this is a beaut.”

“The M-10,” Spy acknowledged. “Good choice. As I said help yourself, we will need all the firepower we can carry to Gray’s headquarters.”  

“About that,” Sniper put the weapon down, beginning to rub his now tingling wrist. “What’re you gonna do about that chip? There’s no point in tryin to sneak up there if you’ve got a tracking device inside ya.”

“I do not know where the implant is,” His face went grim, unamused. “And it is not sensed by metal detectors.”

Sniper scratched his stubble, deep in thought. “You know, I used to chip animals back home,” he tapped his neck. “Used to insert it in the left side of the neck. The layers of connective tissue there would form around it, hold it right in place.”

Spy narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“M’saying if you unbandage yer neck and lemme take a look, maybe I can find the implant.” Sniper was already picking up a chunky hunting knife from a nearby shelf.

“You will do no such thing,” Spy stared at him, aghast. “You are not stabbing away at my throat with that _cleaver_ in the hopes that you stumble across something no larger than a grain of rice!”

Sniper took a step forward. “Will you just relax?”

Spy pointed a gloved finger in his face. “I will kill you if you come any closer.”

“Look,” Sniper sighed heavily. “You can feel tracking devices beneath the skin. If you poke your fingertips over the back and sides of your neck, ya might be able to find it.” He held the knife out, handle outward.

“You do not think I’ve already checked?” Spy eyed him, mouth tight. He kept the knife held out until the bandaged man accepted it with a scowl before turning. “We leave first thing tomorrow morning. Arm yourself with as much as you can from here, and be ready.”

Sniper watched him go, scratching the back of his neck. He turned to the abundance of weapons and tools with a grin he had not donned since Christmas as a ten year old. “Right then,” he rolled his sleeves up. “Let’s see what we got here.”

..

The RED Spy slid himself up onto the gurney, suppressing the urge to scream. He gently placed his leg under the ray of light shining down from the wall mounted medi-gun, grunting with effort. “Well?” he glared at the nearby Medibot. “What are you waiting for?” He really did hate those machines. The Medibot twitched and clinked as it moved, raising its mechanised arms to adjust the medigun closer to Spy’s wound and preparing to heal his destroyed knee. It was fascinating to watch his bone shards piece themselves together, like watching a fine china teacup shattering in slow-reverse motion. His flesh was glowing and stretching until his knee looked good as new, but he knew the pain would linger for a few more minutes.

“You’re back,” Spy bowed his head toward the door, recognising the feminine silhouette. “And empty handed.” Miss Pauling stepped closer, the light of the infirmary illuminating her face. She was short and thin, but Spy knew how dangerous she could be.

“A minor setback,” he hopped off of the gurney, testing his weight on his leg. “I am not used to bringing in targets while they are still alive.”

“But you failed to kill your old teammate,” she acknowledged. “Even though, I hear, he only has the use of one arm.” She gave him a patronising smile. Spy walked up to her, his stony gaze threatening.

“If I did not know any better, Miss Pauling,” he leaned down. “I would say that you were happy to hear that.”

“Not happy,” she said, cocking her head. “Just not surprised.” She let her sea-green eyes roam down and back up the man standing over her, a look of seething contempt barely hidden.

“The Medic,” said Spy, ignoring her comment. “He has been moved onto pills?” Pauling nodded, but Spy caught the brief flicker in her eyes. His thin lips stretched wide. “Excellent.”

“He will be easy to control soon,” said Pauling, her face a still mask. “And far more useful to us than some.” She stared deep into his eyes, challenging him, _daring_ him to bite.

Spy smiled softly at her and lifted a hand, gently moving a loose lock of black hair behind her ear. He caressed her, almost lovingly. “Don’t forget,” he whispered. “You are even more expendable to Gray than I am.” For just a brief flicker of time, Spy saw the fiery hatred burning deep within her eyes. He smirked down at her, victorious.

“Oh Spy,” she placed her hand atop his. “The person who is going to kill you is inside this base. But it isn’t Gray Mann.” She smiled sweetly as she peeled his hand from her cheek with a strength that betrayed her small form. They watched one another, the mutual distaste tangible.

Spy snorted, his thin lip curling up as he stalked past her. “Just be ready to get to work,” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll need a strong stomach for what comes next.”

Pauling remained where she was for a long time after Spy had left. Her hands trembling with rage. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

..

Sniper had a terrible sleep. He was sweating under the blanket, tossing and turning through the night, gripped in the clutches of an all too familiar nightmare. It was hot in the room, and he felt as though could barely breathe. Rivulets ran down his face and down the small of his back, sticking him to the silk sheets. He awoke with a start before 6am, pushing the damp blanket from himself and sitting up. When he put his face in his hands, Sniper realised his wrist had completely healed.

He grinned and flexed his fingers, no longer regretting letting the lady of the manor stick a needle in him. He pushed himself from the bed and into the bathroom, relieved to be back in reality. It had been many years since his dreams had been a place of reprieve. He showered before preparing his things.

Today was the day.

After clicking an ammunition cartridge into his rifle and checking the scope, he sharpened both combat knives he had taken from the lower room. Satisfied, he crowded the weapons into a large pack before turning his attention to himself, lacing up the black combat boots he had found. He slipped on an ammo vest and clipped it into place before placing his aviators and hat into their rightful positions.

As Sniper made his way down the stairs, both brother and sister were already awaiting him on the ground floor. Spy looked indignant but Helene smiled at him widely. “Guess what I found?” she held both hands behind her back, surprisingly playful.

Sniper regarded her. “What?” The sleeves of her dress were long but the neckline plunged, and a belt cinched her waist. He made sure to keep his eyes on her face.

Helene held out a pale hand and gestured for Sniper to do the same. When he did, she dropped a tiny microchip into his palm. “Jacques told me about what you said, so I had a little feel about his neck.”

Sniper chuckled at Spy’s unimpressed expression. “Where’d ya find it?”

“The back,” Helene tapped her own neck. “Between his shoulder blades.”

“Makes sense,” Sniper nodded. “Makes it impossible to fish out without help.”

“If you are quite finished.” Spy turned on his heel and left through the grand oak door. Sniper grinned and pulled his pack higher on his shoulder, following. Helene accompanied them to the pickup point to say her farewells, her untamed, black mane and emerald dress blowing in the wind.

On the field before the helicopter, she embraced her brother tightly, her fingers snaking into the bandages at the back of his head as she spoke to him in French; seeming to plead with him. When they pulled apart she kept her hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath, studying him much the way a mother would. When a tear rolled down her cheek, Spy wiped it with his thumb and said soothing words to her in French. She nodded, cupped his cheeks in her hands and gently bowed his head, leaning up to kiss his forehead.

Spy bid his sister farewell and made his way toward the helicopter, greeting the same pilot from yesterday. Sniper offered a wave to Helene and turned. “Monsieur Mundy,” she stopped him.

“Ma’am?” She approached as he removed his hat and regarded her. Helene looked up, deep into his eyes as if his aviators were not obscuring them. “You will make sure my brother returns to me?” she asked, her blue eyes glowing, the moisture from her tears making her iris’s glisten like ice in the sun.

He nodded. “I promise.” Helene’s thin fingers slowly moved his aviators to the top of his head, exposing his eyes. Her unwavering gaze made him feel naked, and he flinched when she cupped his face in her hands.

“ _Merci_ ,” She leaned up and Sniper went to bow his head, but unlike with her brother, she did not kiss his forehead. When her lips touched his, he inhaled suddenly through his nose, his knees locking to stop them from buckling. Her fingertips brushed over the long scar running across his left cheek, and against all expectations, her lips were warm. She pulled away and smiled at him, using one finger to return his aviators to his nose.

“I do not tolerate broken promises, Monsieur Mundy,” She took a step back. “Do not let me down.” But Sniper had forgotten how to talk. He held his hat to his chest and nodded, before turning and walking to the helicopter. Spy was already belted in and punching in buttons on his watch, the screen displaying a multi-layered map.

Sniper buckled himself in, dropping his akubra back on his head, and sat quietly. Spy turned to say something, but stilled. They stared at one another. Through the reflective surface of Snipers aviators, Spy could see the lipstick staining his bandaged forehead. He scrunched his nose up, his gaze falling lower to Snipers lips. He pulled a face. “If anybody were to see us now, we would become a thing of gossip.” Sniper scowled, pulling his hat down when realisation sank in. He grumbled and wiped the lipstick from his lips with the back of his hand.

The helicopter took off, the speed likely floating more towards the ‘illegal’ side of piloting. Helene watched them go, her hands clutched to her chest. “Please … come back safe.”

..

Medic was back at Dustbowl, even though deep down he knew he wasn’t. Heavy was going to be here, back in his infirmary, any minute now to offer a game of chess. Medic would accept and would lose the game; for all the bulky Russians gracelessness and unrefined grasp of the English language, he was far more intelligent than most gave him credit for.

_Have you read much Dostoevsky, Heavy?_

_Da, I read all of him at university. But much prefer Tolstoy; he has skill to understand everyday tings more than Dostoevsky, who prefers the madness of people, I tink._

_You do not like reading stories of people confronting zheir inner madness?_

_No need. Get enough madness at work._

Or maybe Scout and Soldier would appear, bruised and bloody after another ill-advised brawl. The boy would yap on and on, his voice like nails on a blackboard and Soldier would yell at the top of his voice, even though nobody was trying to talk over him. They were Medic’s most frequent customers.

_You are both trying my patience._

_But c’mon doc, dis guy’s frickin nuts man, ya gotta help me first!_

_Negatory! Short pants here just doesn’t know when to keep his choppers shut. Kids today, doc! Kids to-day!_

Maybe they would not bother him today. Medic could head over to the mess hall, then. No doubt Demoman and Sniper would be watching bad television with a beer, filling up the room up with more second-hand smoke than Spy – who would remain out of sight, even if not absent. Demoman would try to entice Medic over for a drink and Sniper would grin cheekily on the rare occasion that the doctor obliged them. He would sit between them on the grubby, worn couch and the amount of alcohol the pair had consumed would dictate how grabby they got. Generally, Demoman would throw an arm over him and laugh, or cry. Or occasionally both.

_Hey Doc, ever see that film Bullitt with Steve McQueen?_

_Blood hell, lad, ye ask him that every time. He’s no gonnae watch it!_

_Bloody good car chase though._

Around dinner time Engineer would return from his workshop, Pyro loyally at heel. His favourite time of the day was dinner because the whole team got together and talked and ate. Medic would scold them all, nit-picking about how much work they gave him and how he enjoyed cutting them open. His team would just laugh, and Engineer would pat his shoulder.

_C’mon doc, y’all would miss us if we were gone._

Medic snapped his eyes open, his pupils dilating under the light of Gray’s holding cell.

He moved his arms, surprised to find himself unbound, and sat up. Groaning, he rubbed his throbbing temples before swinging his legs over the side and standing. He felt a burning run over his skin, an itch. A need. He scratched his neck feverishly and walked over to the mirror facing him. It was a two-way, he could tell, and he tried to peer through it. His hands were tremoring uncontrollably and his stomach knotted with cramps. When were they going to give him those pills again? He needed them. _Needed_ them. He felt like a starving animal.

“Can you see me?” he addressed the mirror, his stomach muscles seizing up. After hours of pacing he fell to his knees, his hands shaking so violently that he could not even press them over his face without clawing at his eyes. He felt so cold but so hot, so tired but so restless. He curled up, clutched clumps of hair in his hands and ducked his head between his knees. He needed his pills.

The door opened and two men stood over him, their faces blurred and distorted. They looked like devils. One leaned down and cupped his chin, shining a light into his eyes and humming. “He’s ready.”

“Who are you?” Medic’s voice croaked and he held out a shaky hand. “I need … I need-“

“We need your help, Mr Riedel,” one of the men hauled him to his feet. “If you help us, we will give you anything you want.”

Medic did not miss a beat. “ _Pills_ ,” he muttered, his eyes screwing shut as a screaming headache began to creep up his skull. It felt like a vice was gripping his head, slowly squeezing. And squeezing. “I need pills.”

“Of course, they are all yours if you help us.”

“I need them…”

“Come along,” the larger of the two men took his shoulder and began to guide him to the door. “Just do as we say, and you can have as many pills as you like.” Medic’s body jerked as if every step he took sent jolts of electricity up his legs. He stumbled and both men caught him under the arms, half-helping, half-dragging him out of the room. Outside the RED Spy and Miss Pauling stood by, observing.

“Poor Medic,” Spy sighed, drawing on his cigarette. “Does your heart not break for him?” he side glanced Miss Pauling. She grit her teeth and ignored him.

‘If you two are finished standing around,’ Gray Mann’s voice hissed through the speakers above their heads. ‘Get down to the operating theatre.’

..

The helicopter had been slicing through the air for hours, the pair occupying the cabin going over their plans religiously. Sniper had packed a flask of strong coffee, but it had long since finished. He'd been informed before take off that he was not allowed any whisky, eliciting an unamused look from Spy when he brought out a hip flask. “Courtesy of yer sister.” He shrugged.

“Of course,” Spy shook his head. “Now, we will enter here,” he pointed to a section of the map displayed on the device strapped to his forearm. “It is beneath the base, but we can go underground far before we are within view of Gray’s sentries.”

“But y’don’t know where to find Medic?”

“Like I said, I cannot be certain,” Spy pressed a button and the map zoomed in on the north-western area of the base. “But it will be somewhere around here,” he indicated an area. “This is the medical block were Gray carries out his experiments.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sniper threw his head back, swigging from his flask.

“With the RED Spy’s key-card we will have access to much of the base, but as he will know that we have it, we need to get in quick. We must locate Gray Mann and immobilise him first so that he cannot order his machines to attack.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Sniper began. “Say we trigger something and get surrounded by robots. Are we as good as dead or do they have some weaknesses?”

Spy hit a few more buttons on his device, bringing up and image of a Scoutbot. “You cannot pierce the armour, but yes it has weaknesses. Aim for the connections,” he pointed to the knees, the elbows, the neck. “Just as with any human, destroying a joint will immobilise them. Once you have a machine on the ground, pull out the wiring at the back of its head.” He ran his finger across the screen, rotating the image to display the wires poking out of the back of the machine. “This will kill the circuit, shutting it down.”

“I imagine that’d be easy with only one or two of the buggers.” Sniper rubbed his wrist, his face aging with every passing minute. “What if we get surrounded?”

Spy closed his device and brought out his pill bottle, shook some into his hand. “Best try not to.” He popped them into his mouth, the sound of the helicopters three bladed rotor chopping through the air filling the quietness that took over the cabin.

Sniper turned to stare out the window, admiring the sparkling water far below them as sunrays splayed out over the sloshing surface. He could be dead this time tomorrow. Or worse. He found himself surprisingly undisturbed by that fact, instead investing all of his energy into the promise he had made himself only five days ago, sitting behind the wheel of his van outside Gravel Pit. He thought of Medic, of what could be happening to him at this very moment.

He was going to take Gray Mann down, even if it killed. He finished his whisky in one gulp and threw the flask out of the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, [here](http://deslocked.tumblr.com/post/125533533272/spy-turned-to-say-something-but-stilled-they) is a sketch of a scene from the chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was diminishing, far in the distance by the time Sniper and Spy landed.  

They grabbed their equipment and thanked the concerned looking pilot before taking off on foot. They walked for a long time in silence, their ears finely tuned into every sound around them. Listening. They could see Gray’s looming headquarters far in the horizon.  

Spy took the lead, guiding them through shadows until they arrived at an octagonal iron culvert in the ground.

Sniper stepped up beside him and glanced down. Realised where he’d been led. “Are you serious?”

“It is our only chance of getting inside undetected.” He crouched, beginning to pull back the iron cover that led into the sewer. “Besides, having lived out of that van for so long, I imagine the smell shouldn’t be anything you’re not accustomed to.” Sniper gave him the finger but leaned over to look down the tunnel. It was narrow, but they would be able to fit if they held their breath. “After you.”

“A fucking sewer.” Sniper grumbled as he dropped down into the claustrophobic channel, his boots squelching into something unpleasant. There were torn pieces of padding hanging from the ceiling, saturated and dripping with filth and muck. Spy dropped down too, shining a flashlight onto the grimy wall and then further down the sewer line. He listened for any sign of movement. None.

“Let us move.” They snuck along the dirt-encrusted pathway, their steps careful on the downward slope, sloshing through ankle-deep water. Spy hoped it was water.

After what felt like hours of trudging, they came to a three-way intersection in the tunnels. Mist twirled around them in the air, drawing smoky shapes.

“What now?” Sniper whispered, his face pained with trying not to breathe in the stench. Spy fiddled with his watch, a small clock timing on it. He brought up another screen, detecting temperature high above their heads.  

“Straight ahead.”

Sniper squinted at the small screen. “Aren’t we trying to avoid early confrontation?”

Spy sighed. “Yes,” he gave the taller man a patronising look. “Machines do not have blood, Bushman. It is the cold spots we must avoid. Any heat that is picked up will be your Medic, your Spy or Gray himself. All three of which we want to find, eventually.”

“Oh,” Sniper pulled his hat down a little. “Yeah. Makes sense.” They continued to sneak along. When they came across an iron ladder leading up to a grate, Spy stopped and turned.

“Are you ready? There is no turning back once we exit here.”

Sniper grinned. “Would it be lame as hell to say I was born ready?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” He approached the ladder. “Let’s just get going then.”

..

The operating theatre was cold, and silver. Everything was metal, even the floor – and it was all polished to a fine shine. There were large drains screwed into the floor that reminded Medic of the showers back at Dustbowl.

Gray Mann stood in the middle of the room, next to a gurney with a white sheet flung over it, covering something bulky. Medic didn’t have to be a doctor to guess what that was.

“Good evening, Mr Riedel,” Gray smiled at him, but it was humourless. “How are you feeling?”

Medic swayed a little on his feet when the men in grey let go of him and walked away to stand guard by the door. “Vhy am I here?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” the old man gestured for Medic to join him. Reluctantly, he did so. “You are here to help me with something very important. I need you, Mr Ridel, and only you, to carry out a very significant procedure. It’s unprecedented … and it must be successful.”

Medic blinked at him, bleary eyed without his glasses. “… on who?”

Gray smiled widely. “Me.” He pulled back the sheet, revealing the stiff body of Saxton Hale. He had been scalped, the bowl of his skull surgically removed. The grey organ that was once his brain was now just a pool of festering mush.

Medic grimaced at the sight, but didn’t step away. He’d seen worse. “Vhat are you trying to do?”

“You will be transplanting my brain into Hale’s body. My life will be in your hands, Mr Riedel. I’m sure that I don’t need to go into the details of what my men will do to you if you fail.”

“Vhy … vhat are the-“

“You don’t need to know the details,” Gray’s voice was flat, threatening. “All you need to know is, if you refuse, you will be kept alive until your bones turn to dust – and you will never see a single pill again. The hunger will eat you alive, and every night my men will come to your cell … I’ll let your imagination fill in what they will do to you.”

“You’re zhe one who sent zhose machines to Dustbowl,” Medic’s face drained of colour as all the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “You … you’re zhe one who had my team murdered.”

“Do try to keep up,” He leaned on the gurney, checking his cuticles impatiently. “None of that matters anymore. You have a job to do, and very good reason to want to do it right.” Gray nodded behind Medic and he turned, his mouth going dry when he saw who was standing there.

The RED Spy was there, and so was Miss Pauling. Their faces were unreadable.

“Miss Pauling...?” He felt what was left of his broken spirit shatter. First Spy, and now Pauling. Everyone he once thought on his side, had betrayed him. “Vhy?” rage came over him. “ _Vhy_!?”

The RED Spy pulled out a pill bottle, gave it a little rattle. Medic swallowed.

“Just do as you’ve been told,” Gray continued. “Agree to help me, and the whole bottle is your, right here and now, if you say yes.”

Medic stood silently, his eyes boring into the cold faces staring at him. He thought of his team, and for a brief moment, the unyielding hunger twisting around his gut dissipated.

“No,” he growled, turning on Gray Mann with all the finesse of a predator, straightening up to his full height to glare dangerously down at the old man. “I vill never help you. Do your vorst, you pathetic little _parasite_.”

At first, Gray did not react. His face remained unmoved, utterly vacant of feeling. When the black rage twisted his features into an ugly, exaggerated sneer, he made a guttural sound at the back of his throat.

He stormed past Medic, pausing by the RED Spy. His frail body shook with fury. “ _Hurt him_.” And then he was gone.

Spy disappeared in a shimmer, cloaked. The next thing Medic knew, a hard blow connected with the underside of his jaw.

He reeled backwards, temporarily stunned as blood began to leak out of his lip from where he’d bitten it. Spy punched him in the ribs, still invisible. Before Medic could fall to his knees, Spy hooked him in the face again, sending him flying backward into the gurney, its metal edge cracking against his skull. He crawled away and stumbled in an attempt to get to his feet, his eyes darting about manically in search of his attacker.  

Miss Pauling remained where she was, her expression conflicted, concern and remorse betraying her loyalties. When Medic was hit again, Pauling turned, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn’t watch.

Spy’s expensive shoe pulled back, then booted ferociously into Medic’s ribs so hard that a resounding _crack_ was heard. Medic screamed. He spluttered. He crawled. Then he stopped.

Spy circled him at a leisurely pace, throwing a smug glance over at Pauling.

“Vhy are you doing this?” Medic wheezed at his feet. “Ve vere comrades … friends.”

He snorted. “Rule number one of mercenary work, Mr Riedel,” Spy knelt down next to him. “Don’t befriend a man you could be asked to kill.”

The fire in Medic’s eyes had shrunk, but not disappeared. Looking into Spy’s merciless face, he felt one last surge of adrenaline pump around his body. When Spy wrapped a hand around his throat, Medic grabbed his thumb, squeezed, and bent it back as far as it could go. It snapped like a twig, and Spy screamed even louder than Medic had, wrenching his hand away.

“You fucking-!” He kicked Medic again. And again. And again. He stomped on his hand until the bones shattered, booted his face until his nose broke, kicked his ribs until two more cracked. Medic writhed and screamed, trying to curl up, to get away from the onslaught of agony raining down on him.

Spy knelt on his back, pinning him to the cold, metal floor. “If you want to see one more fucking pill, then I suggest you _cooperate_.”

Medic hurt. Everting was screaming. Everything was trembling. It would have been so much easier to give in, to relent to the people who had slaughtered his team. Through the pain and tears, he grit his teeth.

Even as every muscle in his body burned, Medic bowed his head to the floor and whispered “Keep your pills,” before bringing his head back, smashing into Spy’s face, knocking his front teeth out.

Blood sprayed across the shiny tiles and Spy screamed into his hand, his legs tightening around Medic’s waist to stop him from losing his balance. He shook with undiluted rage, grabbing a fist full of Medic’s black hair, yanking his head back.  

He brought out and popped up the lid of the pill bottle, forcing Medic to watch as he slowly tipped each and every pill out, down one of the drains.

Medic didn’t know when he had started to weep, but when his hair was let go, his face fell to the floor and great, wracking sobs shook through him. Spy threw the empty pill bottle at him and stood, dusting himself off and spitting blood.

Miss Pauling turned when the blows stopped, looking at Medic curled on the floor, a broken man. Spy stood over him, his back to her.

Slowly, Pauling walked over to a nearby tray, and silently picked up a scalpel. Grasping it, she advanced on the RED Spy.

“ _Spy, Pauling!_ ” they both jumped. Gray’s voice was screeching through the speakers on the wall. “ _We have intruders! They’re already in the base – stop them, now!_ ”

The RED Spy frowned before cloaking, disappearing from sight.

..

There are many things that men who are working together should confide in one another, and Sniper was pretty sure one of those things was grenades. Spy had not mentioned packing them.

He couldn’t see a damn thing. Dust was clouding out his vision. He could barely breathe, the thick smoke stopping him from getting enough air into his lungs. He coughed, beginning to feel light headed.

And hot. Very hot.

One of the Pyrobots had set fire to the crates he’d taken cover behind, which was roughly when Spy had taken it upon himself to toss a live grenade at the machines rushing toward them. Sniper staggered to his feet, pulled out his M-10 and fired three rounds into a charging Soldierbot. It went down, tumbling over its heavy legs, sparks and bolts flying.

“Spy,” he coughed into his hand, backing away from the flames. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Spy uncloacked next to him, looking unamused. “Later,” He grabbed Sniper and tugged him along the corridor, reloading his revolver. “Cover me.” Spy clocked again, his footsteps silent.

Sniper tucked away the compact machine pistol and slung his rifle off his back, peering down the scope and wrapping his finger around the trigger in one elegant movement.

A Scoutbot appeared, sensing Spy’s body temperature. It pinned him against the wall and deactivated his cloak, lifting its metal fist back to punch him.

Sniper sent a bullet right through the back of its neck, cutting the wires connected to its power supply. It fell against Spy, who nearly toppled over with it. Sniper jogged up to him. “Where to next?”

“This way,” said Spy. They ran quickly but quietly, their guns ready, fingers on triggers. “The room up ahead.”

When they reached the end of the hallway, a reinforced steel door with a small, bulletproof window came into view. Sniper kicked and it flew open, unlocked. They entered cautiously, scanning for danger. The coast was clear.

Sniper frowned and turned to stare at the back of Spy’s bandaged head. “Think yer toys broken, mate.”

“No,” Spy scowled and tapped his watch. “It definitely detected a heat signal in this room.”

The door slammed shut behind them, locking. Through the window, they saw the RED Spy decloak. He smiled at them, his front teeth missing, blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Oh fuck me.” Said Sniper, dread crawling up his spine.

The RED Spy gave them a little wave as gas began to leak into the room, swarming their sensing, chocking them. Sniper tried to cover his mouth with the front of his shirt, but it was no good. He swayed on his gangly legs, feeling light headed.

And that was the last thing either man remembered before passing out.

..

_‘Wake up, Mick,’ said Ricky’s voice. ‘You have to wake up.’_

_I can’t._

_‘You have to,’ Ricky insisted. ‘Don’t let anyone else get hurt. Wake up. Wake up.’_

Sniper slowly opened his eyes.

Voices seemed to be surrounding him on all sides, muffled and incoherent. What time was it? Was he supposed to be at work?

Then he remembered.

He shook his head, his vision returning abruptly into focus. He tried to move his hands, his legs, found himself unable to. He was on his knees, his wrists tightly chained to the wall behind him. He groaned when pain washed over his arms.

“Ah, you’re awake.” He looked up. Frowned when he saw who it was.

The RED Spy was standing over him, butterfly knife in hand, eyes glinting. He stepped aside, allowing Sniper to see the BLU Spy chained opposite him, head bowed. He looked as if he’d been beaten.

“You’re a prick,” Sniper spat. The RED Spy backhanded him. “You’re still a _prick_!”

“How articulate you are, Bushman.” their captor looked between them, thinking. Considering what game to play with his new toys.

He gripped his butterfly knife tighter and a crooked smile stretched his lips. He approached the BLU Spy and hooked two fingers under the bandages at the back of his neck, slid the knife in. He began to slice through the material in an upward motion.

“Get your hands off ‘im, ya dirty snake!” Sniper made to stand but the chains held him in place, weighing his arms down.

The BLU Spy did not struggle or try to fight. He remained on his knees, his eyes downcast as his protective mask was cut away, dropping to the floor before him in ribbons. When every bandage was gone, the RED wrapped his fingers around the underside of his jaw and forced his face up.

Their tormentor looked at Sniper with a triumphant grin. “Take a good look, Bushman,” he said. “You have this and more ahead of you.” He stepped back with a chuckle, returning the knife to his inside breast pocket. Sniper gaped at the BLU Spy, unable to tear his eyes away.

He was completely bald, the whole right side of his head strewn with scars. His skull had been drilled. Burned. Long welts indicating incisions had been made stretched over and around the crown of his head. More burns had melted away large patches of flesh above his left ear, and similar burns covered one cheek and nearly the entirety of his neck.

He was hard to look at, but Sniper couldn’t look away.

The RED Spy chuckled, turning to leave. “I’m going to collect some … _tools_ ,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He left them in thick silence, only the humming of the electric light above filled the air.

Sniper swallowed, barely suppressing the revulsion he felt. Spy stared back at him, lifeless. The hair on the back of Snipers neck stood up when those piercing blue eyes locked onto him as if to say ‘ _happy now?’_

“The hell did he _do_ to you?”

He could see the determination in Spy’s eyes. They blazed with such tenacious rage that Sniper did not feel the need to pity him. There was no hurt, no defeat, no shame in that unwavering gaze.

Spy refused to bow and conceal his hideous face. He’d had enough of hiding. “Not what he did,” He said. “What he _tried_. I am just one of many to face Gray’s experiments. I was lucky to get away when I did.” He laughed, but it was empty.  

“What was he trying to do?”

“Gray Mann is terrified of death,” said Spy, his voice low. “He would do anything to stave it off. Through decades of work, and with the finest engineers at his side, he was able to design a machine that could house a human brain and keep it conscious – immortal.”

“His machines?”

Spy nodded. “He believes that the brain itself never naturally dies – but that the human body is too short-lived, thus, when its other internal organs shut down, they _kill_ the brain with them,” Spy pulled his lips back over his teeth, grimaced. “Initially, he thought he could transplant his brain into a protective, mechanical body - one powered externally. Thought he could essentially become immortal, if his robotic body was powered to support his brain forever.”

Sniper scowled. “And what happens if he runs out of power?”

“That is what he wondered too,” said Spy. “Eventually he deemed that system too risky, and began obsessing over other methods. That’s when he took an interest in his brothers Respawn system. He studied how transplanting a stronger heart into human test subjects – that would be us – made us more susceptible to the respawn process. As you know, if we were pulled into respawn with our human hearts, they would explode.”

Sniper screwed his eyes shut, his mind racing. “So he wanted to create a more permanent respawn system for himself … by transplanting brains?”

“That was the idea. But then, our respawn system had its adverse side effects,” as Spy spoke, the tight skin covering his right cheek tugged his flesh, looking as if about to tear. “The human heart is too fragile to deal with such trauma, and even with respawn, we still needed Medic’s on the field. We were still vulnerable.”

“If he thinks the brain never dies on its own, why did the Engineers design respawn to react to heart devices?”

Spy shifted on his knees. “Because their commission wasn’t under Gray, it was under his brothers. We – RED and BLU – were hired for the purpose of testing the limitations of the human body. If they could create an unstoppable mercenary, they would have the most effective weapon known to man.”

“And Gray?”

“My guess is that he wants to improve upon his brother’s work, to become the one and only ‘completed’ weapon.” Spy licked his lips and leaned forward. “Understand Bushman, the most dangerous machine on this planet, is mankind. If Gray could ever truly become immortal, we would all suffer for it.”

They starred at floor in quiet dread, considering. Sniper glanced up at Spy. “So what’s his new plan?”

“If he can successfully transfer his brain into a _human_ body, then he will simply repeat that process when that body reaches old age. He will be immortal; his brain hopping from one young, fit host to the next.”

“So,” Sniper swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He tried to transfer your brain … into someone else’s body?”

“No, I was part of another experiment … testing human endurance,” Spy shivered. “Whatever he did to me, it permanently damaged my nervous system. In between consciousness, I vaguely remember him telling me that he wanted to dull his new body’s ability to feel pain, fear, _weakness_. He wanted to become a machine wrapped in flesh and held up by bone. Unfeeling. Undying.”

“He sounds completely off his rocker.”

“He is,” Spy narrowed his eyes. “That is why we cannot let him succeed. With the creator of the Medi-gun now in his clutches, there’s no telling what he will achieve. We _have_ to get your Medic out of here.”

“Good luck with that.” The RED Spy had returned, a crude toolbox under his arm. It looked like the garden variety, the type that contained power tools. Sniper and Spy stiffened.

“Now,” the RED dropped the box between them. Opened it. He pulled out a chunky pair of pliers. “Who wants to go first?” Sniper glared at his former colleague, giving him the most hateful look he could muster. “Volunteering, Mr Mundy? That’s very brave of you.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” the BLU looked up. “You can start with me.”

The RED looked at him for a moment before throwing his head back, cackling. “What is this? Have you grown so fond of one another? How heart-warming.” Sniper gawked at the man chained opposite him, genuinely surprised.

But the RED walked up to Sniper.

“But, I think I would rather hear Sniper scream.” He grabbed his left wrist, twisted it hard so the fingers couldn’t curl safely into his palm. Sniper grunted and tried to yank his hand away but the chains stopped him. The pliers were raised.

The BLU tried to lurch forward, couldn’t. “Don’t!”

The RED grinned and applied the pliers to Snipers index finger. He squeezed them, twisting the finger within their grip back at an unnatural angle until it snapped. Sniper grit his teeth and groaned, but when the audio _crack_ came, he screamed. He began to struggle harder, pain shooting up the whole of his arm.

The RED removed the pliers, leaving the finger hanging uselessly off Snipers hand.

“Shall we do all of this hand first, or would you prefer to alternate between the right and the left?”

Sniper was shaking his head, his whole body trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears began to sting them.

“You’re right,” said the RED. “Let’s just do this hand first.” He applied the pliers to the middle finger.

The BLU Spy fought against his chains. “ _Stop_ -!”

Then nothing. Sniper tensed, waiting for the searing pain to consume his hand, but it never came. He looked up at the Spy.

The RED’s head had jerked to the side, mouth hanging open. His arms fell limp at his sides, dropping the pliers. His eyes rolled up, into the back of his head and he fell sideways, hitting the ground with a thump. Miss Pauling stood over him, holding a heavy, bloody wrench.

“I told you the person going to kill you was inside this base.” She breathed.

Sniper stared up at her. “Miss Pauling!”

“No time,” she pulled out a key and began to free his wrists. “Gray Mann has Medic upstairs, we don’t have much time.” She unchained them both and they got to their feet. Sniper clutched his injured hand, still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

Pauling picked up her wrench and regarded them. “I’ll take you to where your weapons are being held, but we need to hurry.”

Sniper looked at Spy, his disfigured face visible to the world for the first time in years. They held one another’s gaze before nodding.

“Lets go.”


	9. Chapter 9

“This is truly unfortunate. As a fellow man of science, I was sure you would at least have enough professional curiosity to participate in Project Nihil.” Gray Mann was standing over Medic, his sunken features appearing skeletal in the dim light.

“If zhat vere true,” Medic rasped. “You vould not have resorted to drugging me.”

Gray ignored him. Picked up the ice-pick.

Medic was propped up in a chair, his hands tied behind his back, one eye swollen shut and his upper lip twice its natural size. He hung his head, accepted his fate. There was only so much physical and mental torment a man could endure, and Medic had reached his limit.

Gray lifted the pick, inspecting it with a grin before nodding to the Medibot standing behind Medic to hold their captives head still. The machine clamped its cold fingers around Medic, forced his head back.

_Take a deep breath._

“Sir,” said a Demobot, entering the room. “The prisoners have escaped. They are heading this way.”

 _Prisoners?_ Medic thought he’d heard wrong at first, until Gray spoke up.

“They _what_?” He whipped round, lowering the pick. “Where is Spy and Pauling?”

The bot was quiet for a moment as its sensors sent new data through its system, information travelling from all around the base and collecting in its memory. “Spy is dead,” it confirmed. “Pauling is approaching here along with the prisoners.”

“That-That-“ Gray stabbed the ice-pick into his Medibot in frustration, but it done little damage. The bot didn’t even register its master’s attack. “Kill them. _Now_!”

The Demobot left. One of the worst things about his machines, Gray thought, was that they could not show fear or intimidation. He liked his inferiors to show that they knew their place. Machines could offer no such comfort, a trait he disliked in others – but craved for himself. He exhaled shakily, his nerves pulsing beneath his skin.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he spat, striding away from Medic. “Pauling is not going to get away with this betrayal.”

When he was left alone, Medic tried one last time to pull at his bounds, tugging desperately. It was no good, the beating the RED Spy had delivered left him in too much pain to put effort into his struggle. He had nothing. No one. He just wanted the end to come, and Gray hadn’t even had the mercy to deliver that.

..

The moment they had retrieved their weapons, the ambush party arrived.

Miss Pauling was the first to fire, using a double-barrelled shotgun with more proficiency than was expected of an assistant. Then again, it was becoming far clearer to Sniper that she was far more than just that.

They dispatched the Demobot and Scoutbot and kept moving, adrenaline fuelling their aching legs.

They stopped when an axe-wielding Pyrobot turned the corner up ahead, looming like a steel phantom in the hallway.

Sniper fumbled to reload his rifle with his broken finger, but Spy was already breaking into a run, heading straight for the machine.  

The Pyrobot swung the axe at him, but Spy ducked and rolled. The blade missed, and he landed on the balls of his feel and jumped up, aiming a shot at the machines circuit base on the back of its neck. It dodged, the bullet firing uselessly into the wall.

A second Pyrobot appeared, this one gripping a flamethrower. There was no time to think. Fire plumed out from the nozzle, filling the air with unbearable heat. Spy staggered back, but the axe-wielding bot swung at him again, the head of its weapon missing and burying itself into the floor, becoming stuck. As it struggled to pull the axe free, a rifle bullet blasted into the back of its head, shutting it down.

“Gotcha.” Sniper was running to Spy with Miss Pauling in tow, heat enveloping them.

Flames cast their shadows onto the wall, a flickering shadow-puppet show from hell. The crackling of fire surrounded them, the smoke thick and smothering. Spy coughed into a gloved hand, brought up his revolver.

He shot at the flamethrower twice, one bullet hitting the weapon uselessly, but the second successfully taking out the wielder. It collapsed with a loud _clank_.

“We need to keep moving!” Pauling shouted over the flames, running ahead to lead the men to their destination. They followed, Sniper’s hand spasming from the pain of his snapped finger.

Spy’s hand began to tremble, and he almost lost the grip on his gun. _No_ , he thought, _not now_. He switched the revolver to his other hand, cursing to himself. The tremoring generally preceded a severe headache, and he was in no position to lose his concentration.

When they arrived at the end room, Miss Pauling blasted the head off the Medibot and entered. She froze. When Sniper and Spy caught up to her, they stilled as well.

They had found Medic.

He glanced up at them from the confines of his chair, his one good eye going wide with shock. His face was black and blue, swollen and broken. He began to tremble and try to speak, but only noises escaped his lips.

Sniper ran to him, couching down to look into his injured face. Medic stared right through him, his watery eyes roaming around the room suspiciously, as if this was all just another cruel game. He began to panic, pulling away from Sniper when he stretched out his hand.

“Doc, it’s me, it’s Sniper,” He took Medic’s face in his good hand, forcing the shaking man to concentrate on his face. Medic tried to flinch from his touch but Sniper kept his hand there, gentle but secure. It took a moment, but Medic managed to bring his eyes back into focus. He looked at Sniper, inspecting his features through the blur. A look of relief washed over him as recognition sank in.

“Yeah, it’s me,” said Sniper, moving his hand from Medic’s face to his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

Medic nodded weakly, still unconvinced. _Safe_. That concept sounded too good to be true. He sniffed up the blood leaking from his nose, tried to speak again. Again, he couldn’t.

“Spy,” Sniper called over his shoulder. “Can you cut him free?” Spy walked around the chair, crouching down as he took out his knife. He began to saw into the restraints.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Doc,” Sniper was assuring him, rubbing his shoulder.

Medic nodded stiffly again, his eye’s glazing over, his mind slipping somewhere unpleasant. “I … I … need them…”

Sniper had to lean in to hear him. “Need what?”

“I need them,” said Medic, rubbing his wrists as they came free. “… pills.”

Sniper cast a look at Spy, who gave him a pitying look but said nothing. He knew exactly what Medic was feeling right now.

“We’ll get you some, mate.” Sniper stood, moved to help Medic do the same.

Medic could barely stay on his feet. “I can’t … I …” he grabbed onto Sniper’s vest, clinging to him desperately. His whole body began to tremble. “… _can’t_.”

The action surprised Sniper. He nearly tugged away, but forced himself not to. “Don’t worry, I promise that you’re safe now. We’re gonna get you outta here.” He gently wrapped his arm under the German and lifted him to his feet, walking him slowly toward the door.

Medic was limping too heavily, all of his weight pulling on Sniper each time he stepped with his right foot. When Sniper opened his mouth to admit he couldn’t manage on his own, Spy approached before he could speak.

He slung Medic’s other arm over his shoulder. Together, the pair managed to drag the injured man from the chamber, following Miss Pauling up ahead.

“Spy,” Pauling turned to him as they walked. “Do you still have the RED’s key-card?”

“I do.”

“Then we need to go to the main control point.”

Sniper made a face. “Are you kidding? We need to get the hell outta here.”

Pauling nodded. “And we will. But there will be no point if Gray isn’t taken down.”

“Do you have the access code to his base terminal?” Spy asked, curling his fingers around Medic’s belt to get a firmer hold.

“Yes,” said Pauling. “But nothing more. And I don’t know how much access you’ll get to the security system with just the key-card – Gray Mann didn’t trust the RED Spy as much as he made out.”

Spy grimaced. “Understandable.” Medic must have passed out, because he wasn’t even trying to walk on his own anymore. His head hung, his grip on their shoulders loosened. “We need to hurry.”

With Miss Pauling in the lead, familiar with bases layout, they arrived at the main control room quickly and without trouble. Once inside, Sniper kept a firm but gentle grip on Medic as Pauling and Spy approached the large terminal in the centre.

The room was huge, screens of differing sizes covering every wall. Sniper did not know what all the numbers and codes meant, but he knew exactly what the large bomb beyond the window meant.

Spy brought out the key-card and scanned it into the terminal, bringing the screen to life in a series of green flashes. Pauling pushed her glasses up and took over, typing furiously as several forms of cryptic data appeared, demanding passcodes and identification. When the screen went red and a window appeared proclaiming ‘ _access denied_ ’, Pauling stepped back.

She hissed through her teeth and gave Spy a concerned look, moving a loose lock of hair from her eyes. “This is as far as I can get us, the rest is up to you.”

Spy nodded, switched places with her. “I’ll get us in.”

Pauling picked up the shotgun she had placed aside and turned to watch the door behind Sniper and Medic. She looked at her watch and scowled.

“Shit,” Sniper moved away from the entrance. “I can hear something, sounds like a lot of the buggers.”

“Damn it,” Pauling lifted the barrel. “Come on Spy…”

“I’m trying.” His fingers were tapping frantically, sweat coating his disfigured forehead.

Sniper pulled Medic over to stand side by side with Pauling, unsheathing a combat knife.

“ _Pauling_ ,” it was Gray Mann. He sounded possessed with rage. Two Heavybots erupted through the door, sending dust up in clouds. The old man behind them was dwarfed by their size, but the look on his face made him equally as terrifying. “How dare you betray me!”

“You were blackmailing me,” she retorted, the shotgun still raised. “If I could have, I would have done it sooner.”

“I was not blackmailing you,” he sneered. “We made a deal; cooperate with me, and your Medic could go free after the completion of project Nihil. But no - now, none of you will leave this base alive. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” said Sniper, stepping a little in front of Pauling. “You’ve lost old man. You need Medic to help ya? Well he won’t. Never – and once he’s dead you’ll have _nobody_ left.”

Gray gave him a condescending look, his tone patronising. “I didn’t get where I am today for nothing,” he lifted his head, his leathery skin stretching over his skull. “This is but an inconvenience. Once you imbeciles are out of my way, I’ll think of something. I always do.” He took a step back and the Heavybots lifted their massive mini-guns. “Annihilate them.”

Time seemed to stop as the mini-guns started whirling. Sniper moved his body in front of Medics, a vain attempt to shield him. He’d had near death experiences before, but this one wrapped itself around his heart. It wasn’t just Sniper that was about to die, and he felt somehow responsible for the whole mess.

If he were a man of faith, he would say his final prayer about now.

Pauling fired at Gray, but both bullets bounced uselessly off the Heavybots and landed on the floor, rolling away. She lowered the gun, her green eye’s stinging. She did not want to die in this place.

The whirling of the mini-guns quickened, and quickened, and then spluttered. Sparks began to fly and the large machines aiming at them began to twitch. Gray frowned and began to ease back, his mouth opening and closing silently like a fish. The loud staccato that followed was not bullets being released, but wires exploding from the back of the Heavybots necks.

‘ _Security Alert – defences are down_.’

Gray snapped his head up, looked over at Spy. He was standing at the computer; inside Gray’s own private controls. He had successfully breached all the security codes, and had rewritten all of them. Everything began to shut down, the lights dimmed, decades of memory wiped from the systems forever.

“No…” The blood drained from Gray’s face and he had to jump out of the way as his towering machines fell backwards, almost crushing him. The light that signalled their power dulled until it extinguished completely. The machines that had nearly mowed down Grays final threat now looked like nothing more than piles of scrap metal.

“ _No_!” Gray was screaming, his hands clawing at his head hard enough to rake bloody lines into his scalp. “What have you done!”

Sniper grinned, his eyes glancing back at Spy’s triumphant grin before returning to the old man. “He’s put your plans in the gutter and destroyed your lifes work. You’re _done_ , you bloody wanker.”

“And that is just the start of it.” Said Spy, stepping down, away from the terminal. Despite his pain, Spy adopted a graceful stride, every muscle poised as he walked. A predator closing in on his pray.

Gray Mann backed further and further to the side, away from the man he had tortured and mutilated. He backed himself up against another computer terminal as Spy pulled out his revolver and took aim.

“If you pathetic little wretches think I’m going to die alone,” he lowered his hand, tucked his fingers beneath the counter that held the screen. “You’re _greatly_ mistaken.” he pressed the button hidden beneath the counter, a manic smile spreading over his face.

The room became engulfed in a blinking red light, followed by a wailing siren. Whenever red was not encompassing their vision, their surroundings were swallowed in pitch darkness. Sniper and Pauling tensed and glanced around, fear creeping up their backs.

The siren’s scream made it near impossible to hear.

Gray was laughing. The sound did not reach Spy’s ears, but he could see that face. That twisted, evil face. Gray’s mouth was stretched wide, his head flung back, shoulders lifting and dropping. The red light shone onto his face, glowing in his eyes, giving him the appearance of the devil he really was.

Spy sent a bullet between his eyes.

Gray’s head jerked back violently, blood spraying over the screens behind him, his insanity extinguished. Had it not been for the siren, Spy was sure he would hear the satisfying gurgle of the man who had so terribly hurt him. Who had murdered his team mates. He was finally dead.

There was no time to savour victory.

The large bomb beyond the window lit up, and the walls around them seemed to vibrate. As Gray’s blood trickled down the screens, Spy saw the words flashing upon it. ‘ _Self-destruction activated_.’

“Oh, God.” He turned and began to shout and gesture wildly at Sniper, but his words were drowned out by the siren.

The floor beneath their feet began to shake, small cracks spreading and becoming longer, wider. Chunks of the ceiling began to rain down, some big enough to kill were it to land on them.

The two Heavybots twitched on the floor by the entrance, their lights flickering back on. Only this time, the lights were not blue - they were red.

Spy grabbed Miss Pauling by the hand and leapt over the machines, running from the room. Sniper followed, pulling Medic alongside him. His steps where awkward as he struggled, Medic’s weight too much to haul along with only one uninjured hand.

When he left the control room, it was chaos. All of the bots lights had turned from blue to red, and they were attacking each other savagely. Sniper gaped at the scene, concern and confusion creasing his face.

A hulking Soldierbot sat astride a writhing Sniperbot, tearing its circuits out with more aggression than should have been possible for a machine. They seemed _angry_.

Spy and Pauling were already at the end of the hall, waving frantically back at Sniper to hurry. His desire to live empowering him, Sniper began to run, dragging Medic along like a heavy sandbag.

They all ran.

The hall shifted from red to black, from red to black, the walls cracking and the floor crumbling beneath their feet. The only sound in the world was the screeching of the siren.

Opting for the stairs rather than the elevator came naturally, and Pauling was the first through the door. Medic seemed to be coming around but Sniper still struggled to pull him along and, in the end, he threw the man over his shoulder and carried him. The alarm drowned out Medic’s screams as his cracked ribs were repeatedly squashed into Snipers bony shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fists curled into the back of Snipers vest.

Down the stairs, the party rushed through another door, passing a large, spherical desk and computer terminal with a timer that read ‘ _19 SECONDS’_ in large, glowing text.

Spy kicked a glass door in before yanking open the steel one beyond it, causing sunlight to spill through into the base. The natural light temporarily blinded him, but Spy ushered Pauling and Sniper out before leaving himself.

They raced away as fast as their legs could carry them, their hearts trying to hide in their throats. They hadn’t gotten far when a huge wave of white heat, forceful and strong, knocked them all face down into the dirt.

Sound ceased to exist; only wind and heat filled their senses. Then nothing. Then came the great roar, pounding their eardrums as if willing them to burst. The ground shook uncontrollably beneath them.

Spy lay still with his eyes squeezed shut, not daring to move until the quake had passed. He wondered why he couldn’t feel his legs and why he couldn’t breathe. A wave of panic hit him. Was he terribly hurt? Was he dying? His ears weren’t ringing; they were screaming.

Slowly, he moved his legs, wiggled his toes, all too grateful for the pain. Pain was better than paralysis. Spy opened his eyes and blinked the spots away before shakily getting to his feet. 

They had barely managed to get out of the blast radius, but they were all alive.

Sniper looked at the headquarters as it belched black smoke into the sky, flames licking the clouds. He turned to Medic who had crumbled to his knees, his face in his hands. The doctor was a burnt out husk of the proud, enthusiastic man Sniper had known so well, and it pained him greatly to witness.

He crouched and placed a hand on Medic’s shoulder. “He won’t be bothering you again, Doc.”

Trembling, Spy opened the device on his forearm and lifted it to his face. When it beeped, he licked his bloody lips and said “We done it,” he glanced over at Sniper and grinned. “Come and get us.”

..

Sandro the helicopter pilot, as Sniper now knew him, had remained in the area. When the sounds of blades cutting through the air had reached their ears, the relief struck them like a physical blow. They were actually leaving this place – they had beaten Gray Mann.

When Sandro landed and saw Spy’s ruined face, he got out and rushed over, pulling Spy into a tight hug. He spoke feverishly in Spanish and, though Spy seemed uncomfortable by the gesture, he patted the pilot on the back before motioning for the others to step into the helicopter.

They all watched the smoking ruins of Gray’s headquarters as the helicopter lifted, flying directly over the top of it until it became no more than a blip in the landscape.

It was unusual, looking down at the place they so very nearly lost their lives in.

They sat in silence at first, Sniper next to Medic and across from Spy, who sat shoulder to shoulder with Miss Pauling. They all looked like death, despite their victory. Exhaustion had taken hold and the beatings the three men had received left them stiff and sore. Medic looked completely out of it, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. He was still in shock.

Sleep eventually came, but not for long.

“Where are we going?” Pauling asked when Spy stirred, rubbing his eyes.

“Paris,” he said. “I can get you all home from there.”

“Home,” Medic mumbled in his sleep. He was leaning on Snipers shoulder, rocking with the movement of the helicopter.

Sniper kept his tired eyes trained outside, his jaw muscles tight. “Yeah.”

..

When Helene opened the front door of the Brochand Manor, tears instantly welled up in her blue eyes when she saw her brother standing there. They didn’t exchange words.

Helene flung her arms around him, squeezing him tightly as tears ran freely down her face. Spy returned the embrace, smoothing his sister’s untamed hair. And he laughed. He laughed in disbelief, realising he truly had accepted that he would never see her again. And yet, here they were, clinging to one another, alive and well.

“I thought I’d lost you again.” She whispered.

 _Me too_ , thought Spy.

Medic was quickly taken to one of the many bedrooms where Helene tended to his wounds. Pauling marvelled at the opulence around her, just as stunned as Sniper had been upon his first arrival to the Brochand Estate.

“Is Medic going to be alright?” Pauling asked, slumping down into a chair in the dining room.

“Héléne knows what she is doing,” Spy said, popping some pills into his mouth before lighting a cigarette. “He will recover, but it will take some time.”

Pauling nodded and then yawned deeply, rubbing her eyes. She had aged considerably over the last few days.

“Come,” Spy offered his hand. “I’ll show you to your room for tonight.” Pauling accepted the offer and he helped her to her feet.

Finally out of harm’s way, all of the pain, fatigue and stress of the last couple of weeks was hammering into Pauling’s body and mind. She felt about ready to collapse, and was grateful for Spy’s support.

Sniper quietly followed as Spy showed her to one of the manors guest rooms. Once inside, Pauling had went out like a light the minute she lay on the bed. Spy gently removed her glasses and placed them on the bedside dresser. Pauling’s was a story he would like to hear, when she was ready.

When he stepped back into the hall, Sniper had walked further down to stare out of the window. Rain had begun to fall, beating gently against the windowpane, the sound visibly soothing him. Sniper smiled to himself.

Spy approached him, one hand in his pocket, leisurely drawing on his cigarette.

“Medic going to be fit to return to Germany tomorrow?” Sniper asked, eyes still focused outside.

“If not tomorrow, then soon enough.” Spy exhaled smoke. “The best place for him to be right now is home.”

“Yeah.” Sniper nodded. He swallowed the lump in his throat, rubbed his tired eyes. Christ, he was tired. But he knew his mind would not bless him with sleep. Not yet.   

“Sandro is willing to take you anywhere in the world tomorrow,” said Spy. “Though, I already told him you would be going to Australia.” Sniper’s head snapped to the side and he glared at him. Spy merely shrugged. “You just agreed that the best place to be is home.”

Sniper bared his teeth. “Not fer me.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t go back.”

Spy cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” said Sniper, turning to take a seat on a small, velvet couch. Only rich people would keep couches in the hall.

A long silence followed before Spy sighed, approaching the window Sniper had been looking out. “Then you do not have to,” he said quietly, barely a whisper. “You will always have a home here.”

For a moment, Sniper thought he had misheard him. He stared at the back of Spy’s head, undisguised surprise etched onto his face. Spy said nothing more, simply watched the raindrops slide down the window.

Had the man – the former BLU Spy – just willingly opened his home to him even though their forced alliance was now over?

Sniper swallowed again, trying to find his voice. “Thanks.”

After a long moment, Spy turned and took the seat next to him, exhaling smoke. The prolonged silence that followed was a comfortable one. They sat and watched the dark grey sky, relaxing. Sniper pulled out a cigarette.

They thought of everything that had happened since that first day at Gravel Pit as the rainfall got heavier. After everything, Sniper still could not believe how far they’d come.

Spy eventually broke the silence in a soft voice. “What really happened to Ricky?”

Sniper’s cigarette paused on its way to his lips. He went very still. “You think I lied about him?” the cigarette completed its journey. He inhaled deeply.

“You said you tried and failed to find the man who kidnapped him,” Said Spy. “I find it hard to believe that a man in possession of tracking skills such as yours could not accomplish that. Especially considering the circumstances.”

Sniper reflected upon that and nodded. “Yeah.”

The rain continued to fall. Spy kept his gaze off Sniper to encourage him to talk, keeping his eyes focused on the window. “So what really happened?”

Quietly, Sniper said “Nothing,” and hung his head to massage the back of his neck. “Ricky isn’t real. Never was.” He chuckled sourly. “He was my only mate, yeah, but he never actually existed.” Spy frowned. He had never heard of a man having nightmares about an imaginary childhood friend.

“You said that you felt guilty because of what your scoutmaster did to him?” He choose his words carefully, voiced them quietly.

Sniper kept his eyes forward. “Yeah.”

Spy recalled his previous conversation with Sniper; _“Ricky had always been different around him. Quieter, y’know? I can’t believe none of the adults ever noticed and tried to help him.” He paused, his eyes darkening. “Can’t believe I didn’t.”_

Spy finally allowed his gaze to leave the window, felt something twist and tighten in his chest; it trickled down into his stomach and churned, making him feel sick. He closed his eyes.

“’Ricky’ was how you coped with what your Scoutmaster did to you.”

Another long silence. “Yeah.”

Spy shook his head, looked at him. “You were just a boy,” He said, but Sniper wouldn’t look back at him. “Guilt is not something you should ever feel about that.”

Sniper inhaled deeply. “I…” He trailed off, unable to force the words out. 

“What?” Spy asked, not moving a muscle, knowing that to do so would interrupt. He waited patiently while Sniper choose his words, hands rigid in his lap.

“I let it happen.” He whispered eventually. The sound of the rain seemed to stop even as it battered against the glass. They were the only two people in the world at that moment. “Again and again,” he said softly. “I never tried to stop it.”

Spy felt a knot tie in his chest. “There was no way you could have known what to do.”

Sniper shook his head, his face unreadable. “Not as a kid I couldn’t, but … I grew up. He moved on to others. It stopped for me, but not for him. And I let him.” His eyes suddenly focused as he pulled himself out of the darkest recesses of his mind. He turned, looked Spy in the eye. “Every single kid he hurt after then … was hurt because _I_ never stopped him.”

When Sniper’s blue eyes filled with tears, Spy felt the knot constrict around his heart. It was an alien feeling to him; to feel such deep-seated pain for another. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around Sniper’s shoulders.

He did not bawl, nor did he sob. Instead, Sniper just sat, looking at his clasped hands with tears running down his face, completely silent. His breathing remained even and calm. They remained still long after the tears had dried.

Slowly, the sound of the rain returned.

“Spy,” Sniper wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. Spy removed his hand and regarded him. “What would you do, if you were me?”

He considered the question intently, cupping his hands over his crossed knees and leaning back. “I would return to Australia,” he said after consideration. “I would visit every place that held bad memories. And I would make better ones.”

Sniper swallowed. “You think?”

“Well, I know that a man’s body is easy to dispose of once he is dead. But that the memories they leave behind, you cannot dispose of. You can, however, dilute them. Overpower them.” Spy smiled at him, and it was the first to genuinely reach his eyes that Sniper had seen. It was warm. “You should never forget the worst things that happen to you, Bushman. Because when you finally accept them, you can do something better; you can show them that you never stopped surviving.”

Sniper wondered if that was how he'd dealt with what Gray Mann had done to him.

When Spy offered another smile, he returned it. “Shoulda figured ya were nothing but a big bloody teddybear.”

Spy grinned and stood, smoothing down his clothes. “Do try to get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Sniper watched him leave, heading toward the room where Helene was tending to Medic. He nodded to himself.

That night, when Sniper lay his head on the pillow, he dreamed.

Ricky was nowhere to be seen.

 


End file.
